


The Stormborn and the Stormbringer

by SkilledWarriorKiwi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Godzilla - All Media Types
Genre: @D&D ruthless doesn't mean Mad™, A mix of the show and the books, Adopted Children, Alien Biology, And doesn't mean you'll just randomly burn the shit out of civilians, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, BAMF Women, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen-centric, Daenerys did nothing wrong, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Game of Thrones Alternate Season 08, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Gen, Ghidorah is still Dany's babby, Hope vs. Despair, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Literally all the women in GoT deserve better, Magic, Minor Grey Worm/Missandei, Minor Original Character(s), Missandei Deserves Better (ASoIaF), Mythology - Freeform, No Romance, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Parent-Child Relationship, Politics, Protective Ghidorah, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements, Swordfighting, Symbiotic Relationship, Targaryen Restoration, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Thunder and Lightning, Women Being Awesome, intelligent Ghidorah, not stark friendly, this is literally just an au where Dany hatches King Ghidorah instead of three dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkilledWarriorKiwi/pseuds/SkilledWarriorKiwi
Summary: The dragon has three heads.Daenerys had been taught about dragons, about her family history and the great beasts they rode. About their thick hides and near impenetrable scales. About their horned heads and fanged maws that can spit fire at a moments notice. About their leathery wings which sounded like the roar of thunder with each beat.She had never been taught about them having multiple heads. The three headed crimson dragon of her House's flag was to represent Aegon and his sister-wives, of the three dragons they used to bend the Seven Kingdoms to their knees. It was figurative.But this one she cradled to her breast had three heads at the end of its sinuous serpentine necks. The crown of each head was dotted with small, barely-there horns with more along the length of the spine. There were also two tails, the barbed tips curling around her forearm like a babe clinging to its mother's finger. Its scales shone like gold, glittering through the ash coating its body.The dragon has three heads.
Comments: 650
Kudos: 587





	1. Stormborn

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno if it was Dumb and Dumber's intent to make me hate the Starks by the end of GoT but boy did they deliver lol 
> 
> But yea, fuck seasons 7/8 and everything to do with it

* * *

There was nothing in the eggs but dust, of bones long since disintegrated. 

_It was all for nothing._

Daenerys could barely see through the smoke and flickering flames of the pyre but she had cradled the eggs close. She'd been so sure it would work- something instinctive and fierce urged her to add the eggs to Drogo's pyre, to tie the woman there to watch her burn, to crawl among the flames to grasp the eggs. She had thought that it was her blood calling for her to wake the dragon eggs, to bring her family's dynasty back. After all, she'd lost everything to truly make her the Last Dragon so she thought this was her ancestral lines way of waking through her.

Instead, even when her clothes burned away and ash of wood and flesh coated her limbs, the eggs she held cracked to reveal nothing but dust which scattered to the burning around her. Her wounded cry went unnoticed by her khalasar- those who remained anyway -as the night sky high above deepened, uncaring of her misery.

The flames burned and the smoke singed her eyes but didn't harm her. _Fire cannot kill a dragon._

What a joke now, she had nothing. She had no son, had no husband, and now even the eggs cracked open to nothing but ash. Just like the rest of her family and now her future.

Curling up on her side, resting on the charred bones of her Drogo, Daenerys fell asleep. There was nothing else to do, after all.

As the pyre burned to the ground as her khalasar slept around her, she was unaware of the way the ground beneath her sunk down somewhat. Cracks inched through the dry earth, the ashes of bone seeping through the cracks to slither below until something stirred, something which had slept for eons after falling from the stars. Tiny and helpless inside its shell but waiting nonetheless.

Above the sky thickened, clouds curling their way through the previously clear night to become heavy and grumbling with distant thunder. A few of the khalasar stirred, some murmuring of omens as lightning shot through the black clouds yet no rain fell upon them.

When Daenerys felt something scaly slide against her bare foot she barely moved, more asleep than awake as the pyre shifted to smouldering ashes as the flames died. Then a forked tongue flickered against her ankle and she thought it was a snake. In her despairing state she would have welcomed the bite.

But then a low chirp sounded, the noise as weak as a kitten but caused her body to stiffen. With painful movements Daenerys shifted, hands coated with ash and hair a streaked mess as she pushed herself up from where she'd been lying on the bones of her husband. 

A small scaly face stared up at her. 

It was joined by two others.

Daenerys stared at the small creature curled around her legs, ignoring the smoke watering her eyes. It was the size of a cat but there was no mistaking the scales, the long neck, the small wings tucked to its side, the long serpentine tail. It reared up on its hind legs, stretching its translucent wings out for balance and then chirped again. Its voice was so weak.

She felt as if she was experiencing a vision; after all, she'd clutched all three of the eggs, felt their shells break to reveal nothing but dust inside. But as she reached for the small beast its weight was real in her arms as she gathered it against her breast. It chirped again, the left most head stretching up to flick out a forked tongue against her jaw. Daenerys cradled the tiny golden dragon, running filthy fingertips over its necks and caressing its back. Its limbs were gangly and she could feel its scales which were hardly any harder than her fingernails. She'd lost her son, she'd lost her husband. But now she'd been given another chance. 

She was now the mother to the only dragon in existence.

_The dragon has three heads._

Daenerys had been taught about dragons, about her family history and the great beasts they rode. About their thick hides and near impenetrable scales. About their horned heads and fanged maws that can spit fire at a moments notice. About their leathery wings which sounded like the roar of thunder with each beat.

She had never been taught about them having multiple heads. The three headed crimson dragon of her House's flag was to represent Aegon and his sister-wives, of the three dragons they used to bend the Seven Kingdoms to their knees. It was figurative. 

But this one she cradled to her breast had three heads at the end of its sinuous serpentine necks. The crown of each head was dotted with small, barely-there horns with more along the length of the spine. There were also two tails, the barbed tips curling around her forearm like a babe clinging to its mother's finger. Its scales shone like gold, glittering through the ash coating its body.

_The dragon has three heads._

* * *


	2. The Undying King

The walk through the Red Waste was gruelling and Daenerys could feel her pale skin burn under the relentless sun.

Through it she kept the golden dragon balanced on her shoulder, his tiny claws digging into the leather. His twin tails were draped down her back, the barbed tips brushing against the exposed skin of the small of her back. He was heavy, which considering his current small size seemed out of proportion but she bore it without complaint.

Her fingers were bloodied, offering the dragon another piece of meat which he happily snapped up with his closest head. Then three little tongues licked over her skin until the blood was gone and the dragon settled down, draped across her shoulders like a scaly scarf. His middle head drooped down as if in sleep while the other two continued peering around curiously.

High above the falling star kept the blue sky painted with a streak of gold. An omen, Irri had murmured to her, an omen of the dragon for the whole world to witness.

Her khalasar had been in awe when she'd stood, clothes burnt off and skin ashy but with a three headed dragon curled around her shoulders. The tiny wings had stretched out and his piercing shrieks had seemed to echo across the plains in a shrill chorus that made her shiver. 

They had all bowed to her, even Ser Jorah, and to the golden dragon she'd brought into the world. They had put their faith in her, Daenerys Stormborn, and been repaid with witnessing the rebirth of dragons after nearly two centuries as she stepped from the pyre unscathed. There was barely thirty left for her khalasar but Daenerys was determined not to fail them. That she would keep her oath to protect them.

First though they needed to cross the Red Waste.

"Have you thought of a name yet, Khalessi?" Doreah asked, walking by her side.

Daenerys gave her handmaiden a brief look before gazing back to her dragon, at how his scales shimmered like coins in the sun. His heads yawned in sync before he crawled down her shoulder and she immediately held him like a mother would her infant. He was warm.

She thought of perhaps naming it after her three latest losses; her son Rhaego, her husband Drogo and even her brother Viserys. He had succumbed to the Targaryen madness but she could still remember when he hadn't been, when he'd been a true brother to her.

However as she cradled the golden dragon, watching him even as he watched her back with six glittering red eyes the size of pinheads, she had a strong, almost overwhelming idea of a name. Nothing to do with her past life. She had her lost loves and they would remain lost. Now it was her and her dragon, the two last of their kind. This name she had no idea why she thought of it and it seemed as if the word had been placed right in her mouth, bypassing her mind completely.

"Ghidorah," Daenerys announced, even as her khalasar came to a halt around her, "His name shall be Ghidorah."

Though they didn't have much time to consider it as her horse at the front of the convoy fell, collapsing in a heap on the ground. Quickly Daenerys turned to the packhorse next to her, untying the binds of the woven cage to quickly usher Ghidorah inside. The small creature trilled and shuffled in with a few awkward hops. Daenerys then hurried to the front to drop down to her knees next to the fallen mare, feeling her heart drop as Jorah caught her eye and shook his head. She knew that when horses fell like that they wouldn't rise again.

Still, she swallowed past the lump in her throat to stroke the horse's sweat soaked neck, "She was Drogo's first gift to me."

"I remember."

"I promised to protect them. Promised them their enemies would die screaming. How do I make starvation scream?" Daenerys got to her feet, knowing there was no hope for her silver and feeling frustration crawl through her.

Jorah joined her, expression sympathetic as he said, "A trick I never learned, I'm afraid."

She grimaced, squinting towards the horizon where all she could see was more of the sun-baked plains, "Does it ever end?"

"This is farther east than I've ever been. But, yes, Khaleesi, everything ends, even the Red Waste."

"Is there no other way?" it was more of a sigh. Her khalasar was determined but even she could see how they shuffled instead of walk, the ruthless weather bending even Dothraki to its whims.

"If we go south to the land of the Lhazareen, the Lamb Men will kill us and take your dragon. If we go west to the Dothraki Sea, the first khalasar we meet will kill us and take your dragon." Jorah said.

She whirled to face him, dirtied hair fanning out behind her as she snarled, " _No one_ will take him from me."

As if hearing her angry words she heard a chorus of shrieks coming from the packhorse which started to snort nervously and toss its head. The nearest Dothraki stroked at its neck and murmured to the animal but she heard Ghidorah screech again. There was something about that noise that made her hair stand on end, as if she'd stepped through a pocket of cold air. The nervous looks from Doreah and Irri to Rakharo and Jorah showed that they shared that sentiment. 

_None shall touch Ghidorah._ Daenerys vowed.

Stepping forward Jorah spoke lowly, "He is too weak to fight, as are your people. You must be their strength."

She inclined her head. This was another test. She had to prove she was strong enough to led, even in such conditions. They had put their trust in her and she must be sure to repay it by being worthy of their loyalty. For a long moment she stood there, thinking over potential plans of action. Her khalasar were exhausted and many without horses. She needed to do something.

She called for Rakharo, Kovarro and Aggo, her bloodriders. They come forward immediately.

"Take our remaining horses. You will ride east, you southeast, and you northeast," she said, looking at each in turn.

Rakharo dipped his head, "What do we seek, Khalessi?"

"Caravans and people. Rivers or lakes or the great salt sea. Find how far the Red Waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side." she said. They couldn't continue to travel as they were, especially blind at what lay at the end of the plains. For all they knew they could be walking right past a river.

Her bloodriders agreed, accepting her orders with dips of their heads before turning to the few horses they had. Daenerys took in a breath, trying to sooth the ragged flutter of her heart even as her lips remained cracked and dried. She wanted to slump down upon the ground but resisted the urge. She needed to be strong.

Once her bloodriders were saddled she couldn't help but catch Rakharo before he went on his quest, saying quietly to him, "Rakharo. You are my last hope, blood of my blood."

"I will not fail you, blood of my blood."

"You never have." she gave him a faint smile to which he returned before spurring off his horse in a clatter of hooves.

Daenerys watched her bloodriders until their forms vanished among the shimmering heat, feeling nervous and itchy. By then Ghidorah's calls rose back up and she fetched him from the woven cage even as her khalasar settled against the rocky outcrop to wait for the three riders to return. The golden dragon immediately clinging to her ragged clothes as his heads twined around her neck. She was a bit surprised at how affectionate the dragon was before reminding herself he was just a baby. And just like a human babe he craved his mother.

She also issued the command to cut up her silver for the meat. It hurt, to watch the first gift from Drogo be hacked up for lunch but she couldn't waste precious supplies upon sentimentality. Ghidorah ate as much as she gave him as she settled under the small lean-to her people set up against the rocks, Jorah by her side as she fed the dragon a handful of warm meat. Watching all three of his small heads rip and tear at the flesh fascinated her.

"Have you ever heard of a three headed dragon, Ser Jorah?" she asked softly, watching the three little forked tongues lick her hand clean of blood.

"None, Khalessi," Jorah said, resting next to her, "Not in any story from my travels across the world have I ever heard of such a creature. Not even a twin headed one. Snakes perhaps, even turtles. Showcases for fairs and the like. But not a dragon. Seems to be a sign, such as the comet. Three heads for the three heads of Targaryen."

Gently Daenerys scratched at the softer scales beneath Ghidorah's chin. It was interesting how his heads jockeyed for position, pushing each other aside to get scratched. The barbs on his tail flexed out like the claws of a cat.

"I know tales of ice dragons which apparently inhabit the Shivering Sea and the White Waste even if I never met one who saw one beyond sailor's stories," Jorah continued, "Of sea dragons or krakens. But unlike the Targaryen dragons they are more myths and tales than actual creatures."

"I am Daenerys of the House Targaryen," she said, staring intently at the golden dragon on her lap, "I am the first of my name. Just as Ghidorah is the first of his."

She kept Ghidorah in her lap, stroking down the soft scales along his back as he curled into a ball. Even tucked up she could see the translucent webbing of his wings, of the tiny veins threaded through the golden flesh. 

_Once he is grown I'll take back what is mine,_ she thought, feeling a shiver roll up her spine despite the heat, _With fire and blood I will take it._

Ghidorah's middle head looked up at her, as if sensing her thoughts. The other two seemingly remained asleep and she wondered if his heads could think differently from one another. His eyes were red, glowing slightly with an unnatural light as the small creature looked at her. She tugged the dragon closer, his scales pressed against the exposed skin of her abdomen. He was her child now and she his mother. They were the last remains of the greatest House Westeros had ever seen. He was a three headed dragon and the draconic symbol for House Targaryen was three headed as well. 

She had been born to rule the Seven Kingdoms and Ghidorah hatching for her proved that beyond a doubt. But she was his mother and she needed to protect him until he was big enough, strong enough, to aid her in her quest to reclaim her birthright.

"The Iron Throne is mine," she said softly, the tiny head watching her intently, "We shall take it just as the usurper took it from us."

For a long moment nothing happened before a little tongue flickered out of Ghidorah's mouth and Daenerys found herself smiling. For all she was told of the might of dragons she had no idea a hatchling would be so endearing.

She and the rest of her khalasar dozed in the heat, Daenerys nearly falling asleep with her golden dragon in her lap. Her lips felt parched and at Jorah's urging she sipped from the scant water they had left, even pouring some in her palm for Ghidorah to lap at. Then it was back to dozing in the sun.

"Khalessi."

The address barely seeped into her heat-soaked brain but Jorah getting to his feet in a rattle of armour stirred her fully. Following his gaze she could see a rider approaching, the shaggy mane horse of Rakharo's. Even from afar she could see how he was listing in the saddle and Daenerys scrambled to her feet. Ghidorah protested as she returned him to his cage but she could see blood on Rakharo and had to hurry.

Jorah barely managed to catch him before Rakharo hit the ground as he slumped from his horse. Daenerys was immediately at his side, Irri also hurrying over. She grimaced at the blood soaking Rakharo's back and shoulder where blades had sliced him. However he was coherent enough to try and greet her until she hushed him, telling him to save his strength.

"Do we have a healer here?" Daenerys asked, glancing around her khalasar, "Or anyone with some type of knowledge tending wounds?"

Irri darted away, speaking in rapid Dothraki to the others grouped around them until a middle aged woman stepped forward. She was quite short, even smaller than Daenerys and Irri, with bushy auburn hair tied at the nape with nut-brown skin and large brown eyes. Her bare feet were caked in dust and sand and Daenerys could see the old scars of a collar marring her throat and wrists.

Speaking in Dothraki the woman said, "Khalessi, I have stitched many saddles, clothes and wounds better. I can help."

"What is your name?"

"Ishabi, Khalessi."

Daenerys stared at her before saying slowly, "You are one of the Lhazareen, are you not?"

Ishabi immediately went to her knees, "I swear to the Great Shepard and Stallion that I had no part in that witch's magic. I was taken in a raid many years before and was not one of that village."

She hesitated, knowing the last time she trusted someone she loved to a Lhazareen- it resulted in both her son and husband dying. However Rakharo was bleeding freely enough she knew she had to make a decision; if she did nothing then he would die regardless.

"No blood magic," she said, coldly and unyielding.

Ishabi immediately nodded, "I only need cloth, needle and thread Khalessi. I do not partake in such wicked arts."

"Get what you need from our supplies."

The woman got to her feet and hurried to the packhorses, some other members of the khalasar aiding her.

She spoke lowly to Irri, "Is what she said true?"

Her handmaiden nodded, "As much as I know- she has tended to many torn tents, saddles and throws. Dothraki will kill maegi if they find them among the slaves."

Daenerys spoke to Jorah then, "Keep close watch on her."

"Of course, Khaleesi."

Her paranoia seemed for naught however; Ishabi tended to Rakharo's wounds briskly and efficiently. A part of her balked at using their meagre water supplies to clean the wound but she knew it would fester otherwise so she granted Ishabi's request. The seamstress was hesitant, constantly asking Daenerys' permission to proceed with each and every step. Daenerys wandered if it had something to do with watching her kinsman being burned alive at the pyre. She pushed that away, keeping close watch as Ishabi laid Rakharo down and tended to his wounds. She even requested a small fire to boil some Dothraki alcohol they had to cleanse the needle before she started and flush the wounds clean of dirt and sand.

Rakharo was dizzy but he bore Ishabi's ministrations and pain without complaint as the rest of the khalasar watched. By the time Ishabi stitched the wounds shut and firmly bound the injuries with reasonably cleaned cloth Aggo had returned. He was empty handed but confirmed there was nothing for them in the direction he'd scouted. By then they'd known Rakharo had been attacked by a hostile khalasar so that direction was also not an option to them. Only pure luck and a strong horse saved Rakharo from falling for the Khal's sword.

"He shall heal in time but must rest," Ishabi declared, putting the bloodied bone needle away and smoothing down the cloth bandage before getting to her feet.

Jorah, who'd been within swords reach of Ishabi the whole time, stepped away with a short nod towards Daenerys even as Rakharo rolled his injured shoulder awkwardly with Irri still close by his side.

"You have pleased me, Ishabi," Daenerys said sincerely.

To her surprise the woman blushed, "You are my Khalessi now. I swore my life and service to you and your dragon. Freely."

 _Ah._ Daenerys remembered when she announced that before Drogo's pyre, stating that she freed any slaves who remained. Many left but some stayed, they stayed and chose her. And those who stayed were rewarded with witnessing the birth of a dragon. 

Her eyes briefly lingered on the woman's scarred wrists before Rakharo spoke, "Forgive me, Khalessi."

"Nonsense," she said sternly, "You did as ordered and now we are aware of a threat. There is nothing to forgive."

Rakharo looked like he was about to protest but Irri's glare stopped him. Either way neither of the two protested when he pulled the small knife from his back and, taking care not to jostle his injured arm, cut off his pony tail. Daenerys shut her eyes tiredly even as inwardly she reassured herself Rakharo would be able to prove himself in battle soon enough to grow his hair back out. Escaping a Khal and hostile khalasar was no easy feat but she knew better than to protest Rakharo's action.

Then Jorah's hand fell upon her shoulder, "Your last bloodrider approaches," the knight said.

Sucking in a breath Daenerys walked forward and was mostly resigned for bad news but blinked in confusion as Kovarro got close enough for her to know that he had swapped steed.

Kovarro grinned at her as he got close, horse tossing its mane and snorting.

"This isn’t your horse." Daenerys said, stepping forward and looking over him carefully. No injuries and he was in obvious high spirits.

Dismounting Kovarro said, "It was given to me by the Thirteen. The Elders of Qarth."

"Qarth?"

"Three days to the east on the sea."

She felt a thrill of hope in her gut, asking tentatively, "Will they let us in?"

Kovarro pulled several full waterskins from the horse's back, saying, "They said they would be honoured to receive the Mother of Dragons."

Turning she spoke quietly to Jorah, "What do you know of this place?"

"Only that the desert around their walls is called the Garden of Bones. Every time the Qartheen shut their gates on a traveller, the garden grows," Jorah said grimly.

Daenerys accepted one of the waterskins, nodding for Kovarro to hand out the supplies to the rest of the khalasar. She could also see more packs on the horse given to him. Irri cast her a worried look from where she was helping Rakharo to his feet but Daenerys already knew she only had one option left to her. They could not stay in the Red Waste and she couldn't risk waiting for another opportunity. They would die if she did that.

Squaring her shoulders Daenerys turned and issued orders for her people to pack up and prepare for their journey to Qarth.

* * *

"Dracarys."

Ghidorah stared at her.

_"Dracarys."_

The middle head wrinkled his snout even as the left and right started biting at the piece of meat, ignoring her commands. Quickly the two heads devoured the morsel while the middle continued staring at Daenerys, little crimson eyes glittering like jewels.

"Ah. A pity my ancestors never recorded their methods of dragon training," she lamented, leaning against the windowsill Ghidorah was perched on, "I'm unsure of how to start or even how old dragons are supposed to be before they can breathe fire."

Qarth was a beautiful city and Daenerys had been grateful to be given her own quarters and place to bath. Scrubbing the Red Waste filth from her skin left her feeling purified. She'd even take Ghidorah in with her, using a soft rag on the dragon until his scales shone like gold coins. He had been leery of the water so she remained in the bath while he perched on the lip as she washed him while Irri and Doreah scrubbed her down and cleansed her filthy hair before braiding it. Once cleaned she'd clad herself in a plain white dress left for her before taking Ghidorah to the window to try and teach him fire breathing. She knew Valyrian and was determined to teach her dragon commands in her mother tongue.

However she had no idea _how_ to teach Ghidorah fire breathing. Perhaps she could get some flint?

The three day journey to Qarth had been gruelling but none of her khalasar faltered. Bolstered by the supplied Kovarro brought they'd doggedly made their way east. When they'd arrived Qarth's stone walls towered over them and the gates had opened to let out nearly three dozen fully armoured guards. Daenerys had been sceptical at Jorah's comment about them being wary of a Dothraki horde- since her khalasar was mostly women, children and older warriors -but she bore it without complaint. Especially when the Thirteen introduced themselves.

They had been garbed in the finest silks and leathers and Daenerys had felt dirty and disgusting before them in her sand stained and torn clothing, despite Doreah's attempts to clean her up when they came within eyesight of Qarth's walls. 

Her bloodriders had grouped behind her, ready to act but not yet drawn their weapons. Rakharo had insisted he could still fight, even with his healing shoulder. Daenerys had checked it at the end of their second day walk across the Red Waste and knew Ishabi had done well as the wound was already pinking. The additional supplies Kovarro had brought also aided Rakharo in regaining strength. Like most Dothraki Rakharo would fight well with both hands so she accepted his insistence of being fight worthy and she felt comforted with her three bloodriders and Jorah at her side.

Especially since the Spice King left her feeling like a fumbling child, her embarrassment only growing as she mispronounced the city's name. Days under the relentless sun had left her dry headed and exhausted but she tried to force herself through diplomacy. Difficult, as she'd gotten used to the Dothraki who were blunt and had no tolerance for a mincing of words so now trying to be subtle left her at a loss. Especially when they were going to reject her and Daenerys knew her people could not survive much longer, that if they were turned away her khalasar would die.

Fortunately one of the Thirteen, a man named Xaro Xhoan Daxos, took her under his responsibility. He even offered her private quarters in his estate, large enough for her small khalasar to also house in. She'd been grateful but wary though she wasn't foolish enough to think his curiosity about Ghidorah wasn't behind it. After all there was none left living who'd seen a dragon before her child.

Though she hadn't missed the fact they'd called her the 'mother of _dragons'_. It was fascinating that news travelled so quickly but she had one child, even if he had multiple heads. Still, she needed to be cooperative in the most part. At least until she could find someone who'd aid her in her quest to reclaim the Iron Throne. So for now she agreed to Xaro's terms and his generosity. 

She also checked on her people before tending to her needs, though most were unused to the grandeur of the building they were in. Many of the fortified cities in Essos simply bribed the Dothraki to leave them alone and it worked for the most part. Her khalasar were grateful for the rest along with freely given food and water, and she checked with Rakharo but was reassured he was well on the way to recovery and could fight at a moments notice. Only then did she leave for her own private quarters at the top of the building, Irri and Doreah by her side while Jorah overlooked the khalasar for her.

There she'd bathed before taking Ghidorah from his cage to try and teach him fire breathing. It didn't exactly work and Ghidorah happily ate his meat raw.

Doreah tried to offer a hand to Ghidorah once he was finished but the dragon snarled and snapped at her, tiny fangs narrowly missing her fingers and making the handmaiden stumble back.

"He only loves his Khalessi," Irri said, not bothering to hide her smirk.

Daenerys went to her dragon, soothing Ghidorah and offering her hands instead. The golden dragon climbed up her arms without hesitation, tiny scaled muzzles nuzzling at her throat and chin. Taking care to support him she returned Ghidorah back to his cage, the dragon curling up inside and promptly falling asleep as she penned the cage shut.

Doreah looked a bit shaken from Ghidorah's angry rejection but quickly got distracted by the fine blue dress Xaro had left for Daenerys. She was unsure about wearing it, remembering the last time she'd been given such a gown it had resulted in her being married off like a broodmare. But after the advice from both Irri and Doreah she changed from the white to the blue. The fabric was soft against her skin, rather foreign to the roughly woven clothing of the Dothraki who forged clothes for durability than comfort or looks.

Then she was plunged into the politics of Qarth, invited to a garden gathering and promptly being swarmed by the nobles of the city. Daenerys face already hurt from smiling even if most of the topics bored her. Though travelling through the night markets sounded nice she found the constant flood of people irritating. For Dothraki none bothered a Khalessi without due course or through their Khal but Daenerys was constantly being stopped by strangers wanting to touch her hair or question her about Ghidorah.

She reminded herself Ghidorah was safely back in her rooms where Irri had elected to stay, along with a handful of her khalasar and Xaro's own guards. The rest of her khalasar were wandering around the gardens looking completely baffled by the Qarth nobles behaviour even if they clearly liked the food whereas Doreah was in her element. Even as she watched Rakharo a few paths over he grabbed a grilled fish and just stuffed it in his mouth from a passing server, ignoring the disgusted looks from the people around him. She even spotted Ishabi slowly eating her way through an entire bowl of exotic fruits which she was sharing with a few of the children from the khalasar, the small ground uncaring of the juices staining their lips and fingers.

There was also some sneaky stealing going on and Daenerys tolerated it as best she could until she spotted Kovarro and one of the older warriors, Malakho, having a heated debate while tapping their blades against a golden peacock at the edge of the garden. Jorah was also watching them and Daenerys excused herself as politely as she could and made her way over.

"What are they doing?" Daenerys hissed at Jorah.

Jorah shrugged, "Malakho says the statue is too heavy to carry. Kovarro says that Malakho is an idiot. They can pry out the gems, the rest is pure gold. Very soft. He can chop off as much as we can carry. Or melt it."

"We are his guests!" she snapped to them in Dothraki, "You can’t pry it or chop it or melt it."

Both Malakho and Kovarro nodded, Kovarro saying, "Of course not, Khaleesi. We will wait until we leave."

"Not even when we leave."

"Why not?"

"Our host saved us from the Red Waste and you want to steal from him? I will hear no more," she gave them both stern looks and inwardly felt glad as they immediately accepted her orders and left the peacock alone. Though she noticed Kovarro snatch a golden goblet from one of the servers, tossing aside the wine as he inspected it.

She sighed, "My brother used to say the only thing the Dothraki knew how to do was steal things better men have built."

Jorah gave a huff, "It’s not the only thing. They’re quite good at killing the better men."

Daenerys faced him fully, a frown on her face, "That is _not_ the queen I am going to be."

She wasn't ignorant to the tales of her family and their ruthlessness over the generations. Greatness and madness intertwined. She would punish and kill her enemies yes, but only those who deserve it. 

Then a reedy voice interrupted them and Daenerys recognized the bald man garbed in purple robes from her greetings at the gates. One of the Thirteen.

He smiled, "Mother of Dragons. On behalf of the warlocks of Qarth, I welcome you."

She plastered on her most pleasant smile, despite being so wary of magic now. The rest of the discussion was confusion, especially as the man offered her a flawless emerald to stare in. At first she was unsure but she was left even more uneasy as another version of himself, a copy, appeared nearly ten feet away from him. The other guests also jolted at the display, verifying it wasn't occurring in her head.

"Should you grow tired of Xaro’s baubles and trinkets, it would be an honour to host you at the House of the Undying," the man smiled thinly, dropping her hand as he continued with, "You are always welcome, Mother of Dragons."

Then, still smiling, he turned and walked away. Daenerys wasn't sure to think, still fairly caught off guard by such a blatant display of magic. 

"My apologies," Xaro said, stepping to her side, "Pyat Pree is one of the Thirteen. It was customary for me to extend him an invitation. Customs die slow deaths in Qarth."

"What is the House of the Undying?" Daenerys asked. The name seemed oddly familiar, as if she'd heard it within a dream.

"It is where the warlocks go to squint at dusty books and drink shade of the evening. It turns their lips blue and their minds soft. So soft, they actually believe their parlour tricks are magic." 

She could tell from Xaro's tone he obviously wasn't a friend towards magic thought found it a bit strange he dismissed it so easily considering Pyat Pree had shown them such magic. That had not been a trick, that odd double of himself. _Things are indeed strange in this city._

Xaro then invited her to walk with him. She gently waved off her bloodriders when they went to follow and they obeyed her without hesitation. She felt gratified in their faith and permitted Xaro to lead her through the gardens to more halls, filled with lounging nobles sipping upon wine and exotic golden structures. The smell of flowers filled the air, the airy fabric of her dressed soft on her skin and the air warm.

"So tell me, how long has your manservant been in love with you?"

Daenerys hadn't expected that comment from the tall man, saying reflexively, "He’s not my manservant and he’s not in love with me." she paused before she continued more forcefully, "He’s my adviser, my friend."

A soft laugh, "Unlikely. I can almost always tell what a man wants."

She chose to ignore the previous comment, "And what about what a woman wants?"

"Far more complicated," Xaro grinned slightly, the golden chains upon his waist clinking together with his strides, "Much more complicated. You, for example, what do you want?"

"To cross the Narrow Sea and take back the Iron Throne," Daenerys said flatly, violet eyes flashing.

"Why?"

She stopped and so did Xaro. She stared unblinkingly at him as she said, "Because I promised my khalasar I’d protect them and find them a safe home."

"You want to conquer the Seven Kingdoms for the Dothraki?" He seemed amused at the prospect.

Daenerys felt her lips curl, "I want them because they’re mine by right. The Iron Throne is mine _and I will take it._ "

"Ah, a conqueror."

"And how did you get all of this?" Daenerys rose an eyebrow, "Did someone give it to you?"

Xaro accepted her comment with a dip of his chin, "No. I come from nothing. I hit the docks like a piece of cargo, except someone normally cares what happens to cargo."

"So you wanted more than you had and you took it," Daenerys said tartly, "You’re a conqueror, too. You’re just less ambitious."

There was a bout of staring before she asked, in a less terse voice, "What do you want, Xaro Xhoan Daxos? At the gates of the city, you bled for me. Why?"

"I will show you why," Xaro said, gesturing for her to follow him. 

They walked through the twisting halls of Qarth until they reached Xaro's estate and then climbed down some stairs, deeper and deeper until the walls were lined with torches to puncture through the darkness. They were deep under the earth but despite that Daenerys did not fear it.

They walked until they reached an end to one of the paths, where a massive vault filled the wall. It was ancient and seemed to shine with an odd light, as if slightly wet.

With a smooth movement Xaro unsheathed his sword and struck the door, the sharp chime bouncing through the passage. He did it again, the shower of sparks so bright in the dark before sheathing his sword. It had left not a mark upon the stone.

"The door and the vault is made of Valyrian stone," Xaro said, staring at the door, "The hardest steel does not make a mark. I offered the greatest locksmiths in Qarth their weight in gold if they could break into it. I made the same offer to the greatest thieves. They all went home empty handed."

Gently he touched the round amulet attached to a thick golden chain on his neck, "The only thing that can open this door is this key."

Daenerys was curious, glancing from Xaro to the massive door before asking, "And behind the door?" Xaro just let out a soft laugh and she boldly asked, "And it can all be mine?"

"All?" He seemed amused with the concept, "Let us say half. More than enough to buy horses, ships, armies…Enough to go home."

She knew he wouldn't offer such a thing freely, "All I have to do?"

"Marry me."

Daenerys couldn't contain her own laugh, "That was a romantic proposal."

"I’ve already married once for love but the gods stole her from me," Xaro told her, his voice completely serious, "I come from nothing. My mother and father never owned a pair of shoes. But marry me and I will give you the Seven Kingdoms and our children will be princes and princesses." He smirked slightly at her expression, "See? I have more ambition than you thought. The time is right, Daenerys Targaryen, First of Your Name. Robert Baratheon is dead."

* * *

The next hour seemed to pass in a rush. Xaro told her of the war engulfing Westeros, of the kings attacking one another, of the accusations against the Lannisters, of the Starks rebelling and the Baratheons attacking. The whole country was fighting one another. 

Her intention was to leave immediately. With the kingdoms in such turmoil it would be ripe for her return, especially with the legitimacy of the current king being such an issue. 

Jorah had protested when she'd stormed back into her quarters, Irri quickly leaving them be as Daenerys began to pack up Ghidorah despite his squawks. His barbed tails stuck out of the holes and she pulled down the leather flaps to secure him more. Truthfully she'd been angry at Jorah's intervention, remembering Xaro's words from before and ended up all but shouting as him even as Ghidorah growled from his cage.

But she had been truthful at saying Jorah was an advisor to her and despite her anger she'd made herself listen. She wanted her throne, wanted her birthright but Jorah was correct. There was also the fact Daenerys had no intention of selling herself in marriage again so despite the rage making her hands shake she eventually, painfully, agreed with Jorah's plan for a ship without the use of Qarth gold.

She also didn't address the way he spoke about her, instead just calmly informing him to locate said ship to which he left without complaint.

Then she let Ghidorah out of his cage, settling on the bed with her golden dragon in her lap. He grumbled and hissed before settling back down, obviously liking the sun shining in through the balcony. Irri crept back in once she was sure her Khalessi's rage was lessened and the woman kept her company even when Daenerys sent a request to meet with the King of Spice the following morning which was accepted. Of Doreah there was no sighting and Daenerys guessed the woman was still information gathering so she didn't let it worry her.

Before retiring fully for the evening she checked on her people and especially Rakharo. His shoulder was healing well and Xaro had even offered the medical aid of the city to help speed his injury along. There was also some more thievery which she scolded them over but on the whole they were settling in quite well.

Of course her meeting with the King of Spice the next morning didn't go well. First he was late and then he refused to call her anything other than 'little princess' and a part of Daenerys wanted to tear at his face with her bare fingers. His refusal of her was infuriating especially when she knew Ghidorah had hatched for her and her alone. They were so eager to see him but refused to accept she was his mother and he chose her.

Meeting with the other kings was just as worthless. The Silk King refusing due to being close with the Lannisters as one of his wealthiest business patrons. The Copper King meanwhile propositioned her, asking for sex in return for a single boat. She left in disgust after having to stop Kovarro from attacking the man outright for his insult. She stormed out of that estate, furious and insulted even as khalasar waited for her. Only a few remained at the estate, most wishing to follow their Khalessi and she had no complaints. Doreah was still gone but Irri once again offered to stay with Ghidorah.

When she left the Copper King Xaro was waiting for her, unperturbed by the looks her bloodriders were giving him. Their protectiveness gladdened her and she fell instep with Xaro as they made their way back to his estates.

Kovarro remained close to her back while the rest of her khalasar hung back further but still close enough in case something went wrong.

She wouldn't entertain marriage with Xaro, however. Earlier before Jorah left to search for a ship he'd warned her of the marriage customs of Qarth and that when wed a spouse could ask for anything from their other and they would have to do so. So while she could demand all of Xaro's wealth and he would have to accept he could also demand her dragon and she would have to comply. Which she would never do. Ghidorah was hers and she could kill anyone who tried to steal him from her.

Though when Daenerys pushed the doors open to their guest quarters the courtyard was littered with the dead bodies of Xaro's guards. Blood was splattered across the stone and dripping down the steps as the metallic stench flooded her nostrils.

_Ghidorah._

She broke into a run, boots thudding on the stone as she sprinted across the gory courtyard and darted up the stairs. She heard Xaro shout something as he also was confronted with the slaughter but she ignored it. She heard Kovarro and the rest of her people following but when Daenerys skidding into the upper level she felt her heart catch in her throat; the handful of her khalasar who stayed behind were also slain, their bodies slumped up the stairs to her quarters. Then when she burst through the doors she came to a halt, staring at Irri's dead body lying on the ground just before the empty cage Ghidorah had been in.

"Where is he?"

Daenerys moved so quickly she nearly fell, Irri's body already cold and her heart clenched in grief at the marks around her friend's neck before fury engulfed her even as Kovarro skidded up onto the landing.

"Where is my child?!"

* * *

The results were bad.

Daenerys had been utterly furious at Irri's murder and that of her four khalasar who'd stayed to guard Ghidorah. She'd confronted Xaro in fury and he called for an immediate meeting of the Thirteen but that didn't curb her fury. Someone had snuck in, murdered her people and stole her child and she would unleash all her rage upon them,

Her people gathered around her, even the women and children gripping knives in preparation to fight off any more trespassers when she returned from overseeing Xaro's message being sent to the other rulers of Qarth. She had no patience for his apologies.

She had even less patience when he bluntly told her that Ghidorah meant 'nothing to him.'

Daenerys stopped in the middle of climbing the stairs back to her quarters, turning to face Xaro with a snarl, "Nothing? He is more valuable than anything in the world!"

Xaro protested, "Shall we look inside my vault and see what selling your dragon would buy me I cannot buy already? We will get it back."

She was sick of that, he was not one of her khalasar, "There is no we, so why would you help me get him back?"

His face became deadly serious, "I took you under my protection in front of the rulers of my city. A man is what others say he is and no more. If they say that Xaro Xhoan Daxos is a liar, my word is worth nothing. I cannot let this thing happen to you under my roof."

Her voice was cold, "But it _did_ happen under your roof."

"Khaleesi, many times in my life, I have been-"

"I don't care where you've been," she snapped before turning and stalking back up the stairs.

Malakho quickly moved aside to let her pass before firmly planting himself back in place. If anyone tried to get pass, even Xaro, they would hear it.

Inside her people gathered, even Ishabi with a small dirk she'd clearly stolen off someone within the city. They murmured to her with bowed heads as she walked past to her bedchambers, feeling her limbs trembling with fury. Irri's body had been removed, already given to a pyre along with the other four of her people at her insistence. She swallowed back the blur of tears, failing when her gaze landed upon the empty cage.

_Ghidorah, where are you?_

He was just a baby, he relied upon her to protect him until he was grown and she'd failed it. She'd been so fixated upon returning to the Seven Kingdoms she'd ignored the very real threat of the people in Qarth. That they would covet the last dragon in the world for their own, just like they coveted her.

Brushing aside her tears she touched the empty cage, silently promising her child she would come for him. Even if she had to rip apart Qarth with her bare hands she would come.

Then there was a soft knock on her door and she heard Rakharo's voice asking entry.

"Come in, blood of my blood," she called softly.

Rakharo's expression was blank but Daenerys wasn't fooled. She had not been blind to the affection between him and Irri and her heart ached for her friend and understood what it felt like. But unlike Rakharo they had not yet caught the one responsible whereas she had the satisfaction.

"We agreed to keep watch through the night if it takes that long," Rakharo informed her, "We'll sleep in shifts until the meeting and none will come in."

She accepted that but moved away from the cage to gently touch Rakharo's injured shoulder, "I made sure Irri and the others are resting with their ancestors, their pyre were lit."

"Khalessi..."

"She died for me and I couldn’t protect her," Daenerys said bitterly, "I will not let that go unpunished for those who did it."

Rakharo nodded before asking, "Has Doreah come back?"

She looked away, "No. She must be dead as well. Whoever attacked us waited until most of us was gone."

"Blood of my blood," Rakharo said, voiced pained, "The rest of your khalasar swore to you, Khalessi. We're ready to kill your enemies for this and butcher them like hogs. Just say so and we shall."

She grabbed Rakharo's hand, staring at him with violet eyes that burned, "I swear to you we will avenge Irri. Those who killed her will suffer until their last breath; I swore those that harmed any of you will die screaming and I _swear_ we shall do that when we find those responsible for killing my people today."

Rakharo immediately accepted that and Daenerys felt a deep flush of hate for the ones who'd killed members of her khalasar, murdered her friend and stole her child. She _would_ punish them for such a transgression.

Her murderous aspirations would have to wait however as Xaro shortly fetched her to take her to the meeting of the Thirteen with Kovarro accompanying her close, with Jorah still on his quest.

Eleven of the Thirteen died in said meeting.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos was a liar and Pyat Pree coveted her dragon, having stolen him away to the House of the Undying.

The copies slit the throat of the Eleven as they sat even while Pyat Pree insisted she was reunited with Ghidorah. Kovarro guarded her close as they bolted from the chambers, her bloodrider snarling about maegi as he defensively pushed her behind him. Pyat Pree halted them at the door, smiling that empty smile as he invited her yet again to the House of the Undying.

When Jorah stabbed the man in the back a pile of clothing as if he'd never been there and instead he was standing by the window with that smile.

Daenerys had never witnessed such blatant magic before and didn't protest as Kovarro and Jorah pulled her along, fleeing outside.

The whole thing had happened in such a short series of events Daenerys felt as if she was reeling but she forced calm upon her even if a part of her wanted to throw something. Qarth was turning into such turmoil she was unsure how to proceed beyond reclaiming Ghidorah. 

Which when Jorah informed her he'd located the House of the Undying, she insisted he take her there. She completely refused his offer of the ship, as he'd located one with a good captain who could take her to Astapor as it currently awaited her at the docks of Qarth. She also rejected his notion that Ghidorah was not her child. She may not of carried him within her womb but she was his mother and he was her son and she would never abandon him.

Kovarro she knew would stand by her no matter what and Jorah gave in when he realized only death would stop her from hunting down Ghidorah. The strange warlock Pyat Pree had offered an invitation and Daenerys did not care that it was a trap. She would find her child or die trying.

Even so it took them nearly an hour of sneaking by the guards sent by Xaro to finally get out of the boundaries of the inner city until Jorah led them to a massive pillar of stone. 

Though the sun was shining and the air was clear Daenerys felt the skin on her arms ripple with goosebumps. A few birds screeched in the distance but her gaze was locked upon the structure and the odd unnatural air to it.

"A house of ghosts, Khaleesi," Kovarro said quietly beside her as they climbed the steps to the tower and she knew she wasn't the only one being affected by the atmosphere, "It is known."

When they reached the base a deep stillness seemed to settle around them, with even the birds of the surrounding forest falling silent. Daenerys kept her gaze upon the House of the Undying, like one might with a predator.

"Where are the guards?" Kovarro asked, puzzled.

"The warlocks kill with sorcery, not steel." Jorah said.

"Let them try," Daenerys said before forging ahead.

It seemed as if the air itself was resisting her despite the complete lack of wind as she took the steps until she was right before the tower. Despite their unease Jorah and Kovarro were close at her side, Kovarro keeping a tight grip on his weapon. They circled the House of the Undying but there was a baffling lack of doors in the entire structure. The surrounding stone had odd carvings dug deep into the stone and they seemed to hurt Daenerys' eyes when she looked too closely.

She circled the pillar, neck titled back as she frantically walked around trying to find some way inside. She ignored Jorah's muttering at her back even as Kovarro waited before the stairs, concerned and wanting for Ghidorah and not in the mood for the strange warlock games of the unnatural structure. Her dragon would die without her.

Then something odd happened. 

One moment she was walking around the base of the building, the sun beating down upon her and the wind rustling her hair, and the next she was in a dark cavern. The transition was so quick it literally happened in the blink of an eye.

Daenerys jolted back as if she'd been struck, looking around wildly as her heart hammered in her chest. The dark chamber she was in was round with a dozen shut doors surrounding her. In the middle of the room was an empty plinth. 

Inspecting the room uncovered nothing so Daenerys took a torch from the wall and chose a door at random. As she did, she heard Ghidorah cry out for her.

It quickly became apparent that she was in a maze.

The House of the Undying was swallowed in darkness, her torch barely letting her see a few feet in front of her. Ghidorah's calls seemed to bounce around the stone corridors, shrill and searching. Daenerys pressed forward despite her anxiety, despite being alone in the blackness. Her child needed her. 

When she reached the end of one corridor it opened up into another dark stone chamber. The room was empty except for a long table and a rotting human heart suspended above it. It pulsated with an awful light with each beat and Daenerys tightened her grip on the torch. There were strange shades seated at the table and she wondered if these were the Undying. She did not stray close to them, watching the heart cautiously. As she moved to the door on the opposite side of the room she could hear whispers stir around her, as if the shades were hissing words right into her ear.

_The Golden King._

_Three fires must you light...One for life and one for death and one to love..._

_Wings of Death._

_Three mounts must you ride...One to bed and one to dread and one to love..._

_The One who is Many._

_Three treasons will you know...Once for blood and once for gold and once for love..._

_King of the Void._

_The storms shall swallow both man and Gods alike._

The heart shuddered and faded into the darkness as the shades melted away.

Ghidorah called again and Daenerys continued across the room even as the shadows thickened to the point her torch was barely visible, to pushing open the door with a squeal of rusted hinges.

The darkness opened up into a massive hall, most of the ceiling missing as a cold light flooded the area. Daenerys tentatively stepped passed a set of towering pillars, dropping her torch as she walked further into the grand hall. Through the broken ceiling and windows she could see a gigantic thunderstorm, long tongues of lightning lancing through the black clouds as the storm heaved and shifted like a living creature. She studied the broken ceiling before turning to the end of the hall where there was a twisted heap of metal with a stain glass window of a seven pointed star behind it.

Though she had never been to Kings Landing or even seen it she instantly recognized the Iron Throne.

A massive seat forged from a thousand swords, over four times her own height with jagged, uneven steps of hammered blades until there was the seat also forged of bent and burnt swords. It was asymmetrical and pointed, like a twisted thorn bush. Intentional she knew, as Aegon the Conqueror was said to have stated the throne was a seat of conquest and as such a king should never sit easy. Some of her ancestors had cut themselves upon the still sharp swords folded into the ancient throne.

The only sound were her footsteps on the stone floor and the occasional thunder from the storm above. Despite the weather's rage it was snow that fell up her not rain.

She reached out to touch the pommel of the ancient sword but then she heard Ghidorah's cry again. After a moment of dithering she pulled away from the throne of her ancestors, staring at the blackened metal before turning and going to the halls doors. The wood felt so real under her hands as she pushed them open and when she walked through she was suddenly in a field of snow.

Above the storm rumbled with thunder even as snow swirling around her. The hall had vanished and now at her back was a gigantic wall of ice. Much like the Iron Throne she recognized the Wall just from description alone. 

Raising an arm Daenerys squinted through the storm, the snow nearly blinding her. In the distance she heard a scream of some great beast, something that made her skin crawl and she felt the urge to flee and hide. She tried to tell herself that this was simply an illusion, brought on by the magic of the maegi. Another scream sounded, this one deep and hoarse compared to the shriek of the first creature.

Straightening her spine Daenerys moved forward through the storm, snow whipping around her to tangle in her hair. The cold seeped into the bare skin of her arms and face but she pushed herself forward, eventually spotting the humped form a tent set in the middle of the icy plain. High above she glimpsed something gigantic among the storm clouds but was so blinded by the snow she couldn't see it clearly.

As soon as she stepped through the flag of the tent the storm stopped, soft light flooding through the material as it it were pitched under a sunny sky. Warmth suffused her limbs, snowflakes melting into rivulets of water to drip down her arms.

Drogo waited for her inside, seated on the bed with a squirming infant in his arms.

"Moon of my life." Drogo said to her, his voice achingly familiar.

Daenerys felt herself tremble as she eyed the babe held in his arms, with the same dark hair of his father but with her violet eyes. She swallowed back bile before saying hoarsely, "This is dark magic; like the magic that took you from me. Took you from me before I could even...Maybe I am dead and I just don't know it yet."

Drogo left out a huff, "Or maybe I refused to enter the Night Lands without you. Maybe I told the Great Stallion to go fuck himself and came back here to wait for you."

Despite the grief clawing at her throat she let out a soft laugh, "That sounds like something you'd do."

Despite knowing it was a magical trap the pull was so strong and Daenerys bent down to look more closely at Rhaego, her son, who she never got to meet. Those violet eyes so like her own. This close she could smell Drogo, exactly as she remembered, and the weight of his arm resting against her back as the other held their child close.

"Or maybe it is a dream. Your dream, my dream...I do not know. These are questions for wise men with skinny arms. You are the moon of my life. That is all I know, and all I need to know. And if this is a dream, I will kill the man who tries to wake me," Drogo said, hand shifting from her back to lightly touch her chin.

"Until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east..." Tears burned her eyes but she forced herself to continue, "Until the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves."

It was as the witch had said and she knew this was a trap. As if through water she heard Ghidorah's cries and she forced herself away from her husband and son. They were a dream. As she pulled away an eerie stillness took over the two, Drogo's eyes now blank and empty like a child's toy. She couldn't bear to look at Rhaego, at seeing if his violet eyes would be like Viserys' in death, and instead pivoted on her heel and left despite the dagger of pain in her heart.

They were dead and she must forge ahead. She would not let magic blind her again.

When she pushed aside the tent flap she was in a circular room with a dozen doors and a single plinth in the centre, the very first room she'd been in. Ghidorah was chained there with iron collars attached to all three of his necks. He nearly filled up the stone surface with his sinuous length, tips of his twin tails hanging over the side but he noticeably perked up when he spotted her with all three heads immediately calling for her.

Daenerys nearly ran to the plinth, quickly running her fingers over Ghidorah's smooth scales as the dragon nuzzled at her hand. The collars around his necks were smooth with no apparent hinge or lock.

"He wants his mother," a low voice said, making Daenerys whirl around. It was the sallow faced man, Pyat Pree. 

Ghidorah hissed threateningly behind her and Daenerys felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. The man's smile was hollow, much like his eyes.

"He wants to be with you. Do you want to be with him? When he was born a new age of our world began and so did the magic and rules of our current world," Pyat Pree said even as more copies of himself appeared, as if there were a dozen of him in the room. She didn't let her gaze drop from the first one as he continued, "You shall be here as his strength, forever. After all he is stronger in your presence. So you shall stay with him and stay with us. Winter...Summer, and winter again. A thousand seasons shall pass and we shall be with you, until that too comes to pass."

Metal cuffs were suddenly around her wrists, the iron cold and unyielding as the chains they were linked to pulled tight on either side of the room by another set of copies. Her arms were stretched out like a sacrifice.

Pyat Pree's eyes glinted with an unnatural light, "Welcome home, Daenerys Stormborn."

"This is not my home," she said coldly, staring him down with an unflinching violet glare, "My home is across the sea where my people are waiting for me."

His smile was insincere, "You'll be waiting a long time."

She strained against the cuffs but they seemed to be made from the same material binding Ghidorah. She stopped, knowing that she wouldn't be able to break them and instead looked over her shoulder. Ghidorah was already watching her with all three heads, his left most one letting out a soft, bird-like trill before flicking out a tongue. The right meanwhile shifted his gaze to Pyat Pree and hissed while the middle continued to stare levelly at her.

Daenerys felt something hot and fierce run through her body and she found herself uttering a word- much like when she named her dragon it was something she didn't think of.

_"Jelmazmar."_

All three heads shifted to stare at Pyat Pree before the middle one snapped his jaws, a strange light flickering over his fangs as he snarled.

Pyat Pree drew back even as Ghidorah bared all three sets of fangs before the middle one spat out a flurry of sparks much like someone striking a flint. The bafflement on the maegi's face at the dragon's antics didn't match Daenerys' certainty. Ghidorah was strong, he could do this.

Ghidorah reared up on his hind legs, barely the size of a toddler even with his wings partially outstretched for balance. His heads reared back like a snake about to strike as a bright glow gathered in all three of his throats, the barbs on his tail fully tense.

Then he spat out lances of lightning, no wider than her fingertips but the brilliant bright arcs zapping up Pyat Pree's arms and searing through his flesh. The maegi stumbled, his body spasming and contorting in uncontrolled motions before Ghidorah inhaled and breathed more lightning, each head shooting out a spike of the burning light in turn. The reek of burning skin and Pyat Pree's screeches filled the air but Daenerys stood patiently as Ghidorah continued to spit not fire, but storm at the maegi.

Eventually the man stumbled and collapsed, pale skin now blackened and burn with the edges of his robes glowing with embers while his body seized for several moments on the ground before coming still. Even so Daenerys could see several small forks of lightning darting across his still form, the muscles twitching.

The cuffs around her hands disintegrated into nothing, as did the chains binding her to the walls. As she turned back to her dragon the collars around his neck also slipped to the shadows to become nothing.

Daenerys held out her arms and Ghidorah immediately crawled into them. Daenerys pressed soft kisses against his heads, murmuring to him in gentle tones.

She and her child were reunited once again.

_Stormborn._

* * *

Quick as a striking snake Kovarro hooked the curved end of his blade underneath Xaro's pendant, snatching it away before he could even stir.

The man instantly jerked awake at his chain breaking but froze as did Doreah, who had slumbered next to him among the silks, at the swords pointed at them both.

Daenerys stared at them both coldly, Ghidorah held tightly in her arms as the dragon hissed at the two with all three of his heads. Behind her the rest of her khalasar watched, Rakharo by her side with his expression blank. Xaro was tense, staring at Kovarro's blade and then at Daenerys but wasn't foolish enough to strike. Malakho had already grabbed both of the man's blades when they'd slunk into his bedchambers, the night sky lending them the perfect cover to slip into his palace.

Meanwhile Doreah started to plead with her, "Khaleesi, please. He said you’d never leave Qarth alive-"

She had no interest in listening to a traitor's lies, instead turning away with a blunt, "Come."

They were dragged from the bed, hands roughly tied behind their backs and then shoved along as they made their way into the depths of Xaro's estate until they came to the great vault. Ghidorah moved so he was balanced upon her shoulder, tails weaving from side to side as he hissed. One head kept a close watch behind them, where her khalasar were shoving along Xaro and Doreah, the middle keep ahead, while the right nuzzled against her brow.

Kovarro handed over the pendant and she opened the vault, the stone groaning slightly as the thick door swung open to reveal nothing but darkness.

"Empty," Daenerys murmured even as Ghidorah trilled again, his claws digging into her shoulder. She eyed the blackness for a moment before turning to face the two captors, a faint smile settling upon her features as she said, "Thank you, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Thank you for teaching me this lesson."

She stepped away from the vault while giving her warriors brisk nods. With harsh shoves they pushed Xaro and Doreah into the vault, Daenerys ignoring Xaro's attempts at bargaining while simply staring at Doreah with cold eyes. She watched as Doreah started to scream and cry even as Jorah stepped forward to push the vault door shut, their pleads disappearing as the heavy stone sealed shut with them inside. Then Jorah pulled the amulet lock free, handing it back over to Daenerys who took it with slow movements. It had indeed been a lesson and not one she intended to forget.

For a long moment she stared at the sealed vault before turning and walking back along the corridor with her khalasar by her side and her child clinging to her shoulder. 

Back in Xaro's lavish rooms the pillage was beginning in earnest, those who waited while their Khalessi dealt with the traitors already ransacking the room with great enthusiasm. Daenerys watched in amusement even as one grabbed a jewel encrusted goblet from the bedside and started prying the gems free with a dagger as Jorah took his place by her side.

"It’s all a lie." Jorah said thoughtfully.

Daenerys nearly nodded before she reached over to pick up a golden bowl, tossed out the fruit before eyeing it critically and how it didn't shine as well as Ghidorah's scales. She handed it to Jorah, saying, "Looks real enough to me. Real enough to buy a ship perhaps?"

He looked it over with experienced eyes before allowing, "Aye, a small ship."

"Well guess we'll need to take more," she said with a smile, before turning away.

"Take all the gold and jewels!" she heard Jorah shout in Dothraki behind her, to the shouts and cheers of her people.

As she walked through the pillage she could see Malakho holding up a great golden peacock with Kovarro's help and even Ishabi pulling down one of the exotic pelts from the walls. Several of the children darted by, arms full with gold and precious jewels to which she smiled at the enthusiasm. She would see her destiny through yet.

"Khalessi," Rakharo's voice stopped her and her bloodrider came to her side.

"Irri will ride easy tonight, Khalessi, with the traitor's screams in her ears," he said lowly. His eyes were bright, as was his smile.

"She will, blood of my blood," Daenerys agreed, "I promised her that her enemies will die screaming and I will uphold that. For each and every one of you."

"Yes, you did. Here," he offered a hand and in his palm was a small bell. Made from pure silver looted from Xaro's own property no doubt.

She blinked, knowing full well the custom of the Dothraki to thread bells through their hair to signify their victories in battle, "Blood of my blood, I have won no victories-"

"You killed the maegi," Rakharo argued, "You killed the King of Qarth. You are worthy of the bell, Khalessi."

After a moment she accepted, taking the bell and carefully pulling several locks of her free-flowing hair just behind her ear across the shoulder Ghidorah wasn't perched upon. With patience movements she weaved a small braid which would hang down her front, fastening it with the twine of the bell. Once done she experimentally shook her head gently, the bell chiming softly.

She smiled at Rakharo, who returned the gesture before going back to his ransacking via grabbing one of the small statues of a lion to hack the soft pure gold into pieces. Daenerys fingered the end of the small braid, Ghidorah stretching over his nearest head to nose at it curiously before nuzzling against her jaw.

"Now let us be off," she said to her child, Ghidorah letting out a little chirp as if in agreement.

With that she left for the doors of the estate, hearing her people following behind and knowing there was the ship Jorah procured for them waiting for them at the port. They'd had the spoils of their victory and now and she was one step closer to reclaiming her birthright of the Iron Throne. They'd be gone long from the city of Qarth before anyone realized what she'd done with their so-called King.

The bell braided within her hair chimed with each step and Ghidorah snapped all of his jaws, sparks flittering across his fangs like stars.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jelmazmar = Storm/violent weather/storm season
> 
> I felt that would fit with Ghidorah's lightning breath 


	3. Beneath the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's kinda hilarious if you've read the books 'cause at one point Kings Landing _does_ get a report of a three headed dragon which Varys mentions and Tywin just fobs it off.
> 
> Anyway I'm using [this figurine of Ghidorah](https://www.kaijubattle.net/godzillalegendary-toys/spiral-studios-king-ghidorah-standard-edition-statue) as a basic 'reference' for how he'll look in this fic since it's really frigging hard in the movie to get a clear shot of him since he's nearly always in the dark or surrounded by a hurricane
> 
> Also I really want that figurine he's so gorgeous 😭

* * *

The ship was of medium size with orange sails, along with a competent crew per Jorah's promise.

Her khalasar, faithful to the last, stepped on board with only a few bouts of hesitation and muttering of ill omens. They were the first Dothraki to cross the poisoned water and as expected there was a lot of sea sickness despite the amount of ginger being chewed as they made their way around the coast. But they endured because of their faith in her.

Stopping at several of the ports along the way to Astapor allowed them to sell a lot of the possessions taken from Qarth, resupplying themselves and buying necessities while still keeping the majority of jewels and gold. Daenerys had changed from the flowy, airy fabrics of Qarth to a red dress of plain yet fine material with thickly weaved dark trousers and leather boots. The warm climate of Essos meant she could easily leave her arms bare but she was aware she had more travel to do hence the practical clothing choice. Around her neck was a golden chain with a silver tooth, much like a dragons fang. She stored her scant possessions in her personal cabin, mostly the books gifted to her upon her wedding day. 

The crew of the ship were eager to curry favour and several times she'd heard the captain bragging in the ports they visited that he was chosen by the Dragon Queen to escort her along Essos. Same with all the marvelling over Ghidorah as the golden dragon remained close to Daenerys, curious about everything around him even if he snapped or snarled to anyone other than her who got too close.

The first day upon the ship he'd perched upon the prow, just above the figurehead with golden wings stretched out like a small sea eagle. He'd started out clumsy and unsure with learning to fly, Daenerys bouncing him up and down in her hands to try and help his lift off when they'd stopped at one of the ports. She felt a bit foolish running down the strip of beach with Ghidorah in her outstretched arms when he'd still been small enough but he managed to flail off in a lopsided flight, gliding down the beach nearly several yards. As he doggedly persisted he'd rapidly gained control over his wings. Now he was confidant enough to skim the water alongside the ship as it sailed, middle head seemingly steering while the other two snatched up fish from the sea to swallow them whole.

With such easy access to food Ghidorah grew substantially, now easily the size of a wolf with his shoulders at the level of her hips. He was large enough he'd started using his wings to aid him in walking upon the ground, when previously he'd been small enough to hop like a bird.

Jorah had told her they were only a few days from Astapor now after sailing around the south coast of Essos and Daenerys was still fairly disgusted by the idea of buying slave soldiers. But Jorah was persistent, stating how the Unsullied were considered the best warriors in the known world and how they wouldn't pillage and riot. It was one of the reasons why Astapor reportedly did not bother to keep their walls high to deter Dothraki hordes since the Dothraki themselves were wary of the Unsullied. Still, Daenerys was unsure with how to proceed with such a thing as she was determined to not end up as a slave owner. Jorah had just encouraged her to at the very least speak to the masters there to learn more of the Unsullied and Daenerys grudgingly agreed. She did need soldiers for her cause.

Now though they had a few days left until they arrived and Daenerys felt almost tense waiting for the ship to reach Astapor even if she loved the sea. She awoke during one of the nights, jolting awake in her cabin for no reason at her. She heard nothing but the sound of waves pushing against the ship. After lying among the blankets for an indeterminate amount of time she finally dragged herself out of bed, wrapping one of the sheep wool cloaks around herself to go out on deck. Outside the sky was deep black and showered with stars, the moon a gleaming coin above. The crew had dropped anchor for the night so there was none to bother her.

Ghidorah, who'd claimed the crows nest as his impromptu nest for their trip, noticed her despite the late hour and glided down to her in a rush of cool night air. Daenerys settled down at the main deck just before the prow, back against the wooden railing and legs stretched out before her with her cloak pulled close. She welcomed her child, Ghidorah crawling down next to her until long necks resting over her thighs. She stroked at his scales, the texture like smooth pebbles against her palm and looking almost silver in the night. Each head had ten horns, five on either side which were getting small ridges like a ram. There were also clusters of tiny spikes along his jaw, still round and fairly harmless. His fangs and the talons of his feet were sharp but small.

The muscles on his wings were getting more defined, growing stronger each day the more he flew. While there was the main arm there were also three more fingers jutting from either side of his waist, with the golden membrane of his wings stretching along each finger until ending at the base of his tails. His back was studded with small spikes. Interestingly enough his left and right neck only had one row of the spikes while the middle head had two rows bracketing the vertebrae. There was also two rows running down either tail while the spikes on the club-like ends of his tails grew thicker. The scales of the undersides of his throats and chest were wide, almost like plates of forged armour.

But they were still soft, not the nigh impenetrable armour of fully grown dragons. It would be easy for him to get hurt. He was the last dragon in the world as she was. A lonely creature, just like herself. 

"I remember Doreah told me a story she'd heard from a Qartheen trader about their tales of where dragons came from," Daenerys said, tipping back her head to gaze up at the night sky and the gleaming moon, "That once there used to be two moons in the sky. But at some point one of the moons got too close to the sun and it cracked from the heat which caused thousands upon thousands of dragons to emerge. They drank the sun's fire which is where they got their fiery breath. And that one day the last moon will touch the sun and more dragons will emerge."

She wondered about Doreah, if the traitor had gone mad in the darkness of the vault or died from lack of air. Daenerys found herself not particularity caring; Doreah betrayed her and murdered Irri and aided in the abduction of her child. She deserved to die afraid.

Daenerys looked down at the dragon in her lap. Ghidorah's necks were as flexible as any snakes, his left and right entwined while the middle coiled around like a serpent until his head was resting upon the coils. She rubbed at the soft skin around his still growing horns.

"Aegon and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya, had the last dragons; Meraxes, Vhagar, and Balerion the Black Dread were the three they rode. Balerion was the biggest dragon the world had seen, who came grown from Valyria itself, and his flames helped forge the Iron Throne," her fingers scratched behind Ghidorah's stubby horns, her voice wistful as she remembered the tales Viserys told of her ancestors, "A dragons flame match their scales; Balerion's flames were as black as his hide and the flames of the dragons were so hot they melted castles and stone."

Ghidorah's eyes glowed in the night, his pupils round within the crimson iris as he watched her intently. His other two heads seemed asleep.

"The last dragon died over a hundred and fifty years ago. It was said to be a small and deformed thing," Daenerys said, "And when it died so did dragons until some people thought they were just tales. House Targaryen was the remains of Old Valyria, which has even more tales around it. Both as a people and for dragons and Valyria was seen as the greatest civilization to have exited. The towers still stand even after centuries and blades forged from the steel never dulls or breaks. All that was lost when when the Doom happened, us Targaryens only escaped because they had settled in Westeros at Dragonstone. The rest died when the mountains exploded into a fire so hot it burned even the dragons and with it was all our greatness of Valyria, all gone from a single day. Then the Century of Blood engulfed Essos while the Targaryens lived in Westeros and bided their time."

Daenerys would've felt foolish for explaining her history to Ghidorah but there was just too much knowing in his eyes. Dragons were always said to be more than beasts- it was why there was never any mention of the Targaryens using saddles or reins to control their mounts, or why Targaryen blood alone allowed them to bond with dragons. They were said to be as intelligent as humans and the way Ghidorah seemed so intent on her story made her certain it was true. He was a Targaryen like herself, a relic of the greatest civilization the world had ever seen and he deserved to know his history. They were the last two true heirs of Valyria, even after the world had tried so hard to kill them they still survived.

"No one travels to Old Valyria and those that do never come back or they come back wrong," Daenerys said quietly, remembering the books she'd read and stories she'd heard while in Pentos. The noise of the sea was placid, the noise of the waves lapping at the boat calming as she continued, "The Smoking Sea surroundings it, still burning from the Doom and is said to be filled with demons and krakens. Whole fleets have been lost to the sea and strange creatures live in Old Valyria. But I've still never heard stories of a dragon like you. Of breathing lightning, not fire. Of so many heads."

Ghidorah blinked slowly, the soft golden scales on his eyelids all but glowing in the clear light of the moon. She wished she could've seen the dragons of old; Viserys had drawn his best memories of the dragon skulls held in the Red Keep before the Iron Throne that he'd seen as a boy, with the ancient bones as black and gleaming as polished obsidian. Viserys had also said Balerion's skull had teeth that were the same length of a sword.

Daenerys stroked his head, her other hand patting between the small spikes along his spine, "When I was born a storm so vicious it smashed my father's fleet to splinters raged around Dragonstone and my mother, Rhaella, died soon after I came into this world. The Usurper sent assassins after us, an infant and a child, like how they murdered Aegon and Rhaenys. They stabbed a little girl half a hundred times and smashed a tiny babe against the stone wall to the point his skull was like a stood upon berry. That man who caused that, Robert Baratheon, is dead but his children sit on the throne they stole from my family. They'll try to kill us soon, if they haven't plotted again already."

She still remembered fleeing so often in her younger years, usually only hours before the assassins arrived. She also remembered more recently the vintner, who tried to poison her before Jorah's intervention. Tried to kill her and her unborn baby. The Usurper and his family, and all those who supported him, were deceitful murderers. It didn't matter if he died, his whole house supported rebelling against her family and murdering children and continued to try and finish her and her brother even after they fled East. They'd rewarded a man who violated the most sacred of oaths to stab his king in the back, they reward the men who murdered a little girl and killed a defenceless baby. Daenerys would make them all suffer when she returned to Westeros. With fire and blood she would deal out retribution.

"Why do the Gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?" Daenerys said, fingers trembling slightly as she stroked Ghidorah's golden scales, "I will show no mercy upon those who claimed their crowns on the death of babies and children. I will raze their cities and kill their soldiers for what they've done."

Daenerys blinked rapidly, tears burning her violet eyes. They left shining trails down her cheeks, the wetness gleaming as silver as her hair in the night.

A forked tongue flicked across the skin of her, licking away the tears. The two heads which had seemed asleep were now looking up at her, the centre most one having stretched up to her face. Daenerys felt a smile appear on her face, pushing aside her grief and rage. Her child was with her and she was stronger than ever. She must not look back, must not give in to despair. She needed to be strong.

"I am blood of the dragon," she said, though to herself or to Ghidorah or both she was unsure, "I am Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. None knew dragons for nearly two hundred years until you hatched for me. Stags, lions, direwolves- dragons devour them all."

* * *


	4. Dovoghedhi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some of the characters I'm using a mix of show/book content while others are basically from one media. Missandei is more of her show self, same with Daenerys as I was uncomfortable with writing them as the children they are in the book. Jorah is his show self (since his book self is a skeeze) while Ser Barrister will be a mix of both. A lot of the start up will be pretty familiar to canon story but will branch off once Meereen gets going. 
> 
> I've already ranted about this in the comments, but we know the Targaryens had a special racial blood connection to dragons- it's why they don't need reins, why only a Targaryen can ride dragons, and how Dany's dragons react to her emotions and moods along with riders feeling their dragon's pain or the dragon's feeling their riders death and how the Targs used to put dragon eggs in their baby's cradles so they could bond from infanthood. So there's clearly a mental connection there. Add in the fact it's canon that the kaiju can communicate telepathically with each other to the point some human psychics could talk to them. So Dany has a natural predisposition to be able to communicate with Ghidorah. The kaiju are also as intelligent as any human being and while we aren't shown the full extent of dragon intelligent (I'm gonna ignore the rly stupid idea Drogon spontaneously understood the symbolism of the Iron Throne) Ghidorah is going to be smart enough to eventually fully understand humans and human speak when he gets bigger. He's still just a bby rn and the most he's understanding is through his growing mental connection with Daenerys. He _won't_ talk or anything but he'll know what people are saying and will be able to communicate with Dany using thoughts/feelings and she'll also get influenced by him and vice versa at times. Dany will kinda act like a crazy cat lady but that's mostly 'cause a lot of people won't understand Ghidorah is an fully sentient being lol 

* * *

Ishabi carefully brushed Daenery's hair, stroking the silvery gold strands straight before pulling back her fringe in four parts which she braided and tied at the back of her head. The silver bell Rakharo gifted her was weaved into the braided hair with deft fingers. Another of her khalasar, a gangly girl barely more than a teenager named Lessa, hovered around them both with Daenery's necklace in hand.

With a satisfied nod Ishabi stepped back as Lessa carefully draped the tooth necklace around her neck, taking care to not pinch the skin of her nape. 

They were at the port of Astapor, the morning clear and sunny. Some of the bounty from Xaro's quarters her khalasar requested to keep which Daenerys granted- Ishabi had the tiger pelt currently draped over her shoulders as a cloak -but most were to be sold as Daenerys dealt with the distasteful task of speaking to the Masters. Jorah, having roamed Essos quite extensively, was confident in that their buyers in Astapor port would give them the best price without skimming from the profits. It was also another way for Daenerys to test herself, being at the forefront of selling their goods and bantering with the markets as they had travelled from Qarth to Astapor. She'd gotten used to the Dothraki who didn't believe in money and simply took what they want and, while remembering how fumbling she'd been in Qarth, she practised her negotiation skills.

Daenerys also noticed her khalasar began to subtly colourise themselves after her; when she'd been trying to distract them during the sea trip she'd explained the House sigils of Westeros and how hers was a three headed dragon which opened the floor to numerous questions about dragons. They had been there when Daenerys told them she was the dragon's daughter before Drogo's pyre but many hadn't know she was a true Targaryen. Most khalasar wouldn't dare approach a Khalessi without due course, especially not to pry within her history so many didn't know of her family history and eagerly listened to it. She had shown them the painting of the crimson dragon of Targaryen within her books while saying that the Targaryens and their people wore such colours to show their alliegence and shortly after she noticed they had started adding red and blacks to their own clothing; Dye was rare among the Dothraki, only the strongest of Khals would employ it, but they wore the obsidian jewellery or rubies taken from Xaro's keep with Ishabi wrapping red cloth around her wrists and the hair ties were red. There was also gold here and there and Daenerys had overheard the children excited telling each other how their golden bracelets matched Ghidorah's scales.

She was a Khalessi and while Drogo had given her privilege and respect among the khalasar she knew it wasn't always true for fellow Khalessi. Much less one leading her own khalasar. Women Khals were unheard of among the Dothraki and that her little khalasar believed in her so much they were proudly showing their allegiance to her made her both pleased and flustered. It would make them a target for any rival Khal but they were willing to risk it for her, because of their faith. 

With that in mind she wore her red dress, dark trousers and boots with the golden tooth. Enough of her family colours yes easy to move about in and Jorah had told her that there would be a fair bit of walking involved in Astapor. Lessa skittered around to her back, smoothing down the skirts of the red fabric. She was taller than Daenerys with deft hands and a chuck of burnt skin below her right eye. Daenerys knew slaves were tattooed in many parts of Essos and the wound was raw and red.

Lessa noticed her gaze and said, "My past was burned away with our Khal's pyre when you emerged, Khalessi."

Daenerys knew at how a painful past is best left for memories so she simply accepted Lessa's words with a slight incline of her head before going out on deck, Ishabi and Lessa leaving to rejoin the khalasar outside as well. Jorah immediately fell in step with her from where he had been guarding the doorway. She spoke lowly to her bloodriders, informing them to remain with the ship to guard Ghidorah who she had led to his cage as she didn't trust him near the Good Masters. They obeyed but Rakharo didn't seem too pleased with her orders; his injuries had mostly healed so she didn't doubt his combat but as Jorah said the Masters had swore safe passage for any clients viewing the wares in the city so she wouldn't be at a risk from them. 

Client. A part of her tasted bile at being seen as much. 

The crew had finished mooring the vessel to the bustling dock of Astapor where numerous trading ships were also replenishing supplies or selling wares, the gangway creaking as she strode down onto the docks with Jorah by her side. Up above the market she could see the city of Astapor, the highest brick pyramid of the city being nearly fourteen hundred feet high to loom over everything.

Astapor, the Red City.

_Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people._

Daenerys squared her shoulders, banishing away her looming anxiety of being in the heart of a slaver city. She was the blood of dragons, she wouldn't run and hide from the likes of a Good Master. They were pathetic men, enslaving others and hiding behind their silks to shield their cowardice. She'd survived being hunted all her childhood, she'd survived being a Dothraki Khal's wife, she'd survived her brother, she'd survived climbing atop a burning pyre, she'd survived and hatched the first dragon seen in an age.

 _I am not that girl any more who cringed at shadows,_ Daenerys thought, _She died in the Dothraki sea when her husband and son did. I was reborn through fire and blood with Ghidorah. I was forged anew._

Still, it was difficult to hide her contempt when introduced to Kraznys mo Nakloz, the Good Master handler of the Unsullied when she and Jorah reached the gates of Astapor. She feigned ignorance in her knowing of Old Valyrian, knowing many men spilled secrets if they felt they were surrounded by fools, and the bald slaver summoned a young woman to translate for them both. The woman was dark skinned with golden eyes, and Daenerys doubted she was any older than herself. A gilded collar was snug around her throat and Daenerys couldn't look at it too long without fury as they were led through Astapor to the Unsullied on display.

As Jorah said the Red City had crumbling walls and empty watch towers, the Unsullied alone being enough of a deterrent to any Dothraki horde which Kraznys boasted as he walked. In his hand he held a long whip with nine ends, golden handle in the shape of the slaver's harpy. The scribe walked silently at his side, only speaking to translate and refusing to look any of them in the eye.

Kraznys' voice was irritating, braying and mocking in a way it reminded her of Illyrio. As per her suspicion, Kraznys was rude and condescending about her to the point he just referred to her as 'the whore' and other crude insults. Daenerys felt a bit grateful Jorah couldn't speak Valyrian otherwise he would have undoubtedly stepped in. As is Daenerys kept her anger under control, walking abreast with the Good Master as the scribe and Ser Jorah followed one step behind them both.

They walked along the city walls, Daenerys eyeing the black-clad soldiers standing silently around them. Each Unsullied soldier had a short spear, sword and a round shield and each had the same blank eyes.

"The Unsullied have stood here a day and a night without food or water," the scribe said, swiftly translating for the Good Master as they walked, "They will stand until they drop. Such as their obedience."

They were led to a courtyard where twenty Unsullied stood waiting. When Kraznys came within arms reach in unison the soldiers stepped to the side, giving them an unobstructed path to the rise at the end of the courtyard. 

"They may suit my needs. Tell me of their training," Daenerys said, as they stepped through the twenty Unsullied to the small rise.

"Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are surely, tell her what she should know," Kraznys snapped at the scribe.

Said scribe's interpretation was more diplomatic, "They begin their training at five. Every day they drill from drawn til dusk until they mastered the short sword, the shield and the spear. Only one in four boys survives this training. They are the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again, absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear."

"Even brave men fear death," Jorah said levelly from her side.

"My Master says the Unsullied are not men," the scribe translated, excluding Kraznys' insult towards Jorah, "Death means nothing to them."

“The Good Master has said that these soldiers cannot be tempted with coin or flesh,” Daenerys said, staring at the empty-eyed Unsullied who remained motionlessly like obsidian statues, “But what if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me?”

When the scribe interpreted, Kraznys snorted, "Tell the mewling fool they would kill him out of hand and bring her his head. Other slaves may steal and hoard up gold and silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty to die at their master's command. They are soldiers and that is all. They fear no death or pain. Tell the foreign whore to watch.”

Kraznys didn't wait for the scribe to translate, instead marching down to the nearest Unsullied and ordering him forward. Despite Daenerys' protest, the slaver used a dagger to cut off the soldier's nipple who didn't even flinch as blood spilled down his skin to drip over his leather armour. To her side, Jorah looked impressed; it was one thing to be told the soldiers cared nothing for pain but another to witness it. Daenerys herself had gotten quite adept at absorbing blows, slaps or scratches from Viserys as his madness grew but he never took a blade to her. Watching the Unsullied stand there and let himself have a part of his bod cut off without even a wince was disturbing.

Then Kraznys told her about the test of the Unsullied, as to how they were to kill a new born in front of its mother and pay for the baby with a silver coin. Krazynys didn't care about her offence, instead corrected her that the coin was paid to the baby's owner not the mother.

Daenerys felt rage curdle her gut even if her face remained an impassive mask. Jorah was watching her carefully, remained silent as Daenerys wrestled down the deep burden of anger at the injustice wrought by the greedy old man before her.

"How many do you have to sell?" she asked, voice completely controlled.

"Eight thousand," the scribe translated, "Master Kraznys asks that you please hurry and come to a decision soon, many other buyers are interested."

And with that, they left.

* * *

"Eight thousand dead babies."

"The Unsullied are a means to an end."

"Once I own them, these men..."

"They aren't men," Jorah corrected as they walked back to the ship, "Not any more."

"Once I own these army of slaves, what will I be?" Daenerys argued.

"Do you think these slaves will have better lives serving men like Kraznys or serving you?" Jorah argued back as they walked down the stone stairs to the docks, "You will be fair to them, you won't mutilated them to prove a point. You won't order them to murder babies. You will see they're properly fed. A great injustice has been done for them but closing your eyes will not undo it."

Daenerys frowned but pondered the words carefully. Her khalasar had mostly been slaves before she freed them and now they followed her willingly. 

_Perhaps..._

She got interrupted by a little girl on the docks rolling a wooden toy ball towards her, the girl's smile sweet despite her dirty features. Daenerys stopped the ball with her boot, smiling back at the little girl before bending down to pick it up. The wood was warm and smooth against her palm. She gave the girl an inquisitive look who gestured for her to unscrew it with a toothy grin.

Daenerys was about to unscrew it when a calloused hand grabbed her wrist, knocking the ball from her grip and sending her sprawling onto the deck. She heard Jorah shout and grab the hooded stranger but Daenerys hardly noticed as the ball spilled open a few feet in front of her and long spindly legs scuttled forth.

The insect almost looked like a shimmering green scorpion if not for the creature's disturbing human face; she could see the white eyes, the lipped mouth which was parted to show tiny pointed teeth, and a diminutive nose which seemed to sniff at the air. The arched tail curled, stinger twitching, but Daenerys couldn't look anywhere else except its horrible face.

Then a dagger pierced the manticore's carapace, the creature's tiny mouth lolling open in a silent scream while its eyes bulged in pain. Daenerys shoved herself back, stumbling to her feet even as the hooded stranger tossed aside the manticore's dead body before chasing the little girl who bared rotted blue teeth. 

Jorah tugged her back up to her feet, Daenerys unsteady as they both watched the stranger stop before the edge of the wharf where the girl had jumped. They turned, looking up at the wall overseeing the docks and both Daenerys and Jorah followed the stranger's gaze to see what she'd thought was a little girl hiss down at them before fleeing.

"The warlocks," Daenerys said, still shaken from the manticore's appearance. She must've known they would've desired revenge for the House of the Undying.

Another threat to contend with, even after her killing of Pyat Pree. More who coveted her and her child.

"I owe you my life, ser," Daenerys said, turning back to her mysterious rescuer.

What she didn't expect was for him to respond with, "The honour is mine, my queen."

Jorah tensed as the man pushed back his hood, revealing a face weathered with wrinkles and a snow-white beard. His blue eyes were clear and his stance was strong despite his age. 

Daenerys cast an inquisitive look at Jorah and, at his shocked expression, asked lowly, "Do you know this man?"

"I know him," Jorah said, "As one of the greatest fighters the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen and as the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard."

"King Robert is dead," the man said, "I have been searching for you, Daenerys Stormborn, to ask for your forgiveness. I was sworn to protect your family. I failed them."

Daenerys watched as the man knelt before her, his eyes still searching hers as he continued with, "I am Barristan Selmy, Kingsguard to your late father. Allow me to join your Queensguard and I will not fail you again."

* * *

It turned out that the magister Illyrio Mopatis was partially responsible for Barristan locating her, as the knight promptly informed her he'd been sent with three ships and a handful of crew at the magister's behest. Indeed when they went back to the docks where her first vessel was her khalasar were flocked around the wharf with her bloodriders guarding the gangway with a man and a horse waiting close by and seemingly unperturbed by the hostile glares he was getting. Three great cogs were moored next to her ship, the gifts from the magister.

Daenerys recognized the animal as a zorse, having seen one of the rare steeds before in the markets of Vaes Dothrak. White coat thickly layered with gleaming black stripes like a tiger, strong and sturdy legs, white mane and tail. A broad man held the reins, sported a massive belly and his bare chest covered in countless scars. A small woven vest covered his shoulders and Daenerys could see the curved arakh strapped to the belt of his baggy trousers.

"Illyrio Mopatis sent us to protect you. Along with gifts of three ships to return you back to Pentos and even a zorse mare, bred by the Jogos Nhai for you. A token for the Mother of Dragons," the fat bald man said cheerfully when she got close enough, gesturing towards the black-striped mare next to him and then where the three ships were.

Daenerys frowned even as Jorah stepped closer to her side. While Illyrio had housed her and her brother he also facilitated in selling her off to Khal Drogo. He also had a house full of slaves, for all he tried to claim they weren't.

"What is your name, ser?" Daenerys asked instead.

"Strong Belwas they name me in the fighting pits of Meereen," the bald man said, slapping a hand against his hefty gut and making the dark flesh and scars ripple, "Never did I lose. I let each man cut me once before I kill him. Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain."

She cast a mute look at Barristan who spoke, "I have travelled far with Strong Belwas and can rely upon him, especially if this will have to end with swords."

Daenerys accepted Barristan's word; she had heard tales of the knight and naught heard anything whispering his word would be false. The fact he'd travelled solely to locate her, to full-fill his oath that he'd made to her grandfather, let her know he knew loyalty. And his remorse for his failure to protect either her father or brother even Jorah still seemed wary of the other man.

Turning back to the pit fighter Daenerys said, "Strong Belwas, I have no intention of travelling back to Pentos and submitting back to Illyrio's graces. Anything I owed him vanished the moment he aided my brother in selling me as a bride. You may chose to stay and be accepted as my Queensguard, or you may return back to Illyrio."

Belwas grinned at her then, showing crooked teeth, "I have no need for the fat man with sweet stink in his hair. If the Dragon Queen wants Strong Belwas for a blade then here I'll stay."

And like that, she had two new additions for her Queensguard.

While inspecting the three cogs she heard Belwas calling her bloodriders 'horse boys' and seemed fairly entertained by them. At least he didn't seem hostile even if her khalasar seemed perplexed by Belwas' lack of hair but they had faith in their Khalessi and accepted the new additions without complaint. The additional three ships were welcomed, especially with their full cargo holds and the fact they were to be hers and not hired as the previous vessel.

Daenerys would feel somewhat guilty if she didn't know the kind of man Illyrio was. She hadn't forgotten the way his eyes had sometimes lingered upon her back when she'd been in his keep, or the horribly young, beautiful girls he kept close at hand. She did not have much tolerance for such men.

Most of the cargo could be sold except for the essentials, especially the food stores. She also decided upon keeping the zorse, though per Dothraki custom she simply decided to address the mare as the 'striped one'. She had missed her silver and how she fell in the Red Waste and was looking forward to riding again. 

Along the busy dock it was easy to sell the more redundant cargo and she was quite surprised at how easily Barristan fit in at her side with Jorah. Belwas was a more simple, straightforward sort and she could appreciate that. Pit fighters were of that sort, born and bred for the fighting pits. She had to wonder if what he said was the truth, that each scar was from every fight.

Barristan, when she explained her reason for being in Astapor, was vehemently opposed to buying the Unsullied. He told her in no uncertain terms that the people of Westeros would hate her on principle if she arrived with an army of slaves at her back. Jorah had argued with the knight then, sharply informing Barristan that they need soldiers for Daenerys quest for her family's stolen throne and that the Unsullied themselves would not pillage and rape. Barristan argued back that Rhaegar himself had men willing to die for him solely because they believed in him. 

Daenerys had let them argue, as it seemed to be a result of two differing ideologies. Jorah was more practical while Barristan protested on ethical grounds. Daenerys understood both sides and also especially with Barristan as she wasn't going to become another Master. 

She was going to kill the Masters.

* * *

"I have a dragon. I'll sell you him."

The scribe was visibly shocked by the offer, quickly translating to the group of Good Masters who were lounging upon the rise including Kraznys. At the scribe's translation all of the slavers gathered at the meeting straightened up but Daenerys didn't drop her stare. Her demand for all of the Unsullied had come with scoffs and comments of her lack of wealth to go through with purchase.

Jorah and Barristan, who'd accompanied her to the meeting, were also shocked by the suggestion but a sharp look to them both silenced their protests. The Good Masters wouldn't turn down the offer, she could tell by the light of greed in their eyes. A dragon, the last living dragon, was too much of a prize and too much of a rarity for them to turn it down.

So they accepted, Daenerys's violet gaze never leaving Kraznys as he accepted her offer. She was even granted the scribe as token of a well struck bargain and to use to control the Unsullied due to her not knowing the Valyrian tongue.

It was nearly laughable but Daenerys accepted without complaint and with that left to fetch Ghidorah even as the Good Masters bustled off in a flurry of silks.

The scribe, who informed Daenerys softly that her name was Missandei when asked, quickly fell in step behind her and her two knights. Then when they reached the ports she let Ghidorah out of the tiger cage he'd been bundled in, the golden dragon yawning with all three heads as he crawled out the pen. Then he gorged himself on the offered pile of fish at the bow of the ship as her khalasar pulled around a covered wagon along the wharf. Ghidorah would be too heavy for people to carry to the courtyard where they'd commence the handover.

Daenerys did notice how Missandei had changed her flowing skirts as the woman hovered by her side, the dress covering her body more modestly compared with the scant coverings while a scribe. Daenerys made no comment instead watching as Rakharo and Aggo lead her striped one to the wagon, securing the zorse between the shafts as the mare snorted and tossed her mane. Across the deck Ghidorah finished swallowing down his mouthful of fish, forked tongues flicking out.

"Khalessi, are you sure this is the wisest path?" Jorah pressed gently, "Selling your dragon to the slave masters, even for an army-"

"I made my decision," she snapped in a tone that brooked no argument.

Jorah drew back even if she knew he wasn't happy with her choice. Same with Barristan. Her khalasar didn't comment at all as they fixed up the wagon while Belwas was too occupied with eating a jar of pickled sheep kidneys to worry over her decision. Missandei said nothing over her choice, the young woman instead staring intently at Ghidorah's golden form as were many passing by on the docks.

Daenerys swallowed down her nervousness, instead walking to the supplies and retrieving the metal chain and cuff. The chain easily looped around her wrist like a silver serpent, the cuff a dark leather and warm in her palm.

Ghidorah perked up at her approach, now at eye level with her when she knelt down between his neck and junction of his wing. It seemed only yesterday when she could hold him easily in her hands. His left most head started nuzzling at her face, even as his right started sniffing at the chain while the middle watched her levelly. Then his right head swung around to look at the wagon waiting down the gangway as his middle grabbed the left by the horn and yanked him away from Daenerys' face. His legs were sturdy, the talons longer than her fingers.

When she reached forward with the cuff to secure it around his ankle Ghidorah hopped back with a hiss even as his wings flared out. His tails lashed, one striking the railing along the prow and breaking the polished wood.

Daenerys frowned, violet gaze flicking between her child and the waiting wagon. There was an odd ebb and flow of emotions that seemed foreign to her, much like a dream. Murky and distant like how she'd stifled herself when Viserys' madness grew but she wasn't that girl any more, so where were these feelings coming from? She reached for her child and Ghidorah hissed; the right snapping, the middle glaring and the left shying away. He was defensive and angry at her.

People were watching but Daenerys didn't care. Dropping the chain she reached forward again to take a hold of Ghidorah's middle head, despite his wrinkled muzzle and how his head was now the size of a wolf. She could easily cup his scaly cheeks in her palms. The small spikes along his serpentine jaw were rough under her fingers but currently still rounded and harmless. His wings were still spread, the spines on his tails flexing but he didn't bite her despite the growling.

_Maesters have said dragons are as intelligent as any man, some even moreso._

It was something Viserys had said so long ago, when he was telling her of the Targaryen dragons throughout their rule. The way his right head kept twisting around to look at the wagon waiting and his hostile reaction to the chain.

What type of mother was she, letting her child think she was going to sell him?

Daenerys leaned forward until her forehead was resting against Ghidorah's, feeling the pebbly scales and seeing how closely his cat-like eyes were watching her. The strange flux of emotions was stronger now, pressing against Ghidorah and she realized with some shock it was _his_ that she was feeling. Weak and disoriented but his nonetheless. 

The bond between Targaryen and their dragon was said to be strong, none would ride anothers dragon- Rhaenys and Visenya never dared to mount Balerion the same way Aegon never dared to mount Vhagar or Meraxes while his sisters lived. Dragons would only accept a single rider and one of Old Valyria blood. 

_Did Rhaenys scream when Meraxes died beneath her?_

Pushing that aside Daenerys tried to explain her intention to her frightened child. It was strange, lacking words or actions but rather trying to use her mind to convince. Awkwardly trying to visualize her intent, her intention with the Good Masters. How she needed him to go to the wagon but her decision and the reasoning, the reveal for it.

She wasn't sure if she'd succeeded but when she pulled away, dropping her hands from Ghidorah's golden scales, all three of his heads where staring intently at her. The left and right were close enough she could feel the warm puffs of their breath against her skin and ruffling her hair. She had to wonder how much he understood.

After a long moment of staring, Ghidorah's middle head bobbed once.

Then he leaned on his wing, offering her his scaly ankle. Satisfied her child was soothed, Daenerys secured the leather cuff around the joint before she lead him down from the ship to the wagon. He followed along, climbing up into the wagon and letting her tie down the horse-skin sheet with him inside.

Once done she looked back to Jorah, saying, "Shall we be off then?"

* * *

All eight thousand Unsullied were waiting in the plaza, set up in formation. The Good Masters were waiting at the rise at the end of the plaza and Daenerys noticed there was far more than the group she'd offered Ghidorah to. Most likely it was the majority of slavers in Astapor, no doubt drawn in by the allure of Ghidorah. There were also traders and others watching, along with the city guard.

In the wagon her child was quiet, Rakharo leading her striped one and the rest of her khalasar following in its wake. Jorah, Barristan, Missandei and Belwas were following behind her as she led her little group up to where Krazyns was waiting before the other Good Masters. The golden whip was held loosely in his hand.

As they got within earshot of Kraznys he started to speak, Missandei beginning to translate by Daenerys side.

"The Master says they are untested. He says you would be wise to blood them early," her voice was soft, "There are many small cities here and there, cities ripe for sacking. Should you take captives the Masters will buy the healthy ones and for a good price. And who knows in ten years some of the boys may be Unsullied themselves. As all shall prosper."

Daenerys hid her disgust at being assumed as a slaver from the Good Master, instead keeping her face blank until they reached the rise before Kraznys. Her khalasar stopped behind her, the zorse snorting as Rakharo steered her around until the back of covered wagon was facing them.

With her head high Daenerys walked to the wagon, deftly untying the horse-skin and throwing it back. Then she took a hold of the metal rod attached to the chain, letting it spool out as Ghidorah climbed out of the wagon. Gasps came from watchers even as Ghidorah shook his golden scales before spreading his wings. The bell weaved into her hair chimed as Ghidorah took flight, his wings swinging up and down in smooth, powerful movements until he was hovering several feet above her. 

The chain rattled as she walked forth, all the Good Master's eyes transfixed to the three headed gold dragon keep apace in the air above her. When she reached Krazyns he all but snatched the rod from her hand, barely looking at her even as he handed over the golden whip.

"It's done then?" Daenerys asked, voice mild, "They belong to me?"

"It is done," Missandei translated, "You hold the whip."

"The bitch has her army," Kraznys spat those last words at her in Old Valyrian, which Missandei tactfully didn't translate. Above Ghidorah hissed but didn't try to move away from the Good Master as Daenerys turned back to the Unsullied, despite the dragon's left most head keeping his gaze fixed upon her as she walked away.

All eight thousand Unsullied waited before her, silent and ready for her commands. They were a variety of people, of those torn from their families and brutalized until they weren't even called men any more. She could see slavers walking the formations, long barbed whips in hand. The whip in her own hand was oddly light for something which held eight thousand souls in vice.

Daenerys's violet eyes narrowed before she called out in Old Valyrian, "Unsullied!"

In unison every soldier pulled up his shield, standing up straighter at her call. The noise seemed to reverberate through the plaza like the sounding of a gong.

"Forward march!" There was no hesitation as they obeyed, same as when she shouted, "Halt!"

Behind her Ghidorah snarled at Krazyns as the man pulled on the chain, the dragon yanking his foot back mid-air and making the slaver stumble. Angrily, she heard Kraznys yell, "Tell the bitch her beast won't heel!"

Discarding any attempt of subtly Daenerys turned, saying to the man in their shared tongue, "A dragon is not a slave."

Kraznys twitched, his head snapping towards her as he asked in shock, "You speak Valyrian?"

A sneer on her face, she answered, "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Blood of Old Valyria. Valyrian is my mother tongue."

The Good Master was staring at her open mouthed as were many others in the plaza but they weren't her current focus.

Dismissing him she turned back to the Unsullied, calling out, "Usullied! Slay the masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who holds a whip, but harm no child. Strike the chains off every slave you see!"

For a moment there was a complete stillness then the sound of a spear piercing flesh, one of the Unsullied stepping out of formation to impale one of the Masters in a spray of blood. Then other soldiers leapt into action, quickly killing the slavers who'd walked between them.

Behind her she could hear Kraznys screaming, shrieking for her to be killed even as chaos began to erupt around them while her Queensguard and bloodriders quickly gathering around her.

Daenerys turned to face the slaver, looking up to where Ghidorah hovered above the man with his horned heads watching her closely.

"Jelmazmar!"

Ghidorah's throats glowed gold before he vomited forth triple lances of lightning onto the slaver, Kraznys robes igniting as his skin turned blackened. The light was so strong Daenerys squinted as the reek of burning flesh filled the air while a hideous popping noise sounded as the Good Master's eyeballs burst out his head. Several smaller of tongues of lightning lanced off Kraznys spasmodically thrashing body to lick against the nearest armoured guards, causing them to shriek and drop their metal weapons.

Astapor fell quickly, with blood and ruin and the screams of the dying. With the Unsullied hers there was only a few hundred dedicated guards and they died along with the Good Masters whereas barely any of the Unsullied were wounded. She felt no pity for the Masters cut down, of their blood and organs spraying across the red stone and with their fouling stinking the air. Ghidorah landed next to her once the chaos was over, her guard immediately stepping aside for her dragon as she undid the cuff upon his leg. That done he took flight again in a flurry of air and shrieks.

When it was over the Unsullied went back to formation with weapons glinting with the spilled blood of the Good Masters.

Belwas had unhitched her striped one from the wagon, the zorse waiting for her with a saddle in place. The hefty pit fighter offered his hand for Daenerys' foot, easily hoisting her up one-handed onto the back of the zorse. The mare snorted as Daenerys took a hold of her reins, sending her on an easy trot down the line of the Unsullied. Above Ghidorah kept apace, his wings beating in easy movements.

The golden whip was in hand as she called out to them, voice pitching over the formation, "You have been slaves all your life! Today you are free. Any man who wishes to leave may leave and none shall harm him, I give you my word," the striped one's hooves kicked up the red sand as Daenerys trotted her down the lines, "Will you fight for me? As free men?"

Her Queensguard and khalasar watched from the rise littered with the gored bodies of the slain Masters while high above Ghidorah glided in lazy spirals like a desert bird. For a long moment there was no noise except the wind and distant fires before she heard the end of a spear hit the ground. 

Then more and more until all of the Unsullied were stamping the ends of their spears upon the bloodstained sand, the noise a chorus.

When they later departed the sacked Red City, an army of free men with Daenerys leading them upon her striped one with Ghidorah flying close, another silver bell had been added to her hair.

* * *


	5. Dragon Dream

* * *

Daenerys awoke within a dream.

She blinked, abruptly finding herself standing on a balcony made of steel. She was clad only in her nightgown, feet and arms bare but felt no chill on the metal floor. As she looked around she saw more metal; metal beams bracing the ice walls, metal stairs, metal tables, metal chairs, and lanterns of metal scattered around the room. The main wall filling the entirety of the great hall before her was of ice, far taller then the pyramid of Astapor and of cold shimmering blues with a chilling mist slowly emanating from it.

Daenerys stared at the massive wall of ice before her, hands gripping the metal railing. She could see Ghidorah's gigantic silhouette housed within the massive ice structure, not her current Ghidorah but rather a vast creature that filled the entirety of the ice in such colossal size she would have been nothing more than a speck before it.

After some staring at the great shadow within the ice Daenerys turned away to inspect the odd balcony she was on; metal boxes were stacked around her but there was also several curious metal lanterns pointed towards the far ice wall. Inspecting one revealed a single opening covered in glass but despite that she saw no flame within, just a strong beam of light unlike any torch or lantern she'd seen before. Waving a hand across the beam of light offered no heat and it was only when she touched the edge of the glass did she feel a faint burn.

For the last few days Daenerys and her army had been on the march, making their way towards the Yellow City of Yunkai while following the river road. It would take nearly two more weeks of travel to reach Yunkai, as Daenerys hadn't wanted to exhaust her troops before confronting the slaver city. Her energy had been wrung at the end of each day, dealing with the sudden burden of trying to organize and provision an army of thousands which her council were a welcomed help. For the last few days her sleep had been troubled yet dreamless, Daenerys falling to sleep with numbers and food dancing through her thoughts only to wake shortly with the dawn to continue the steady march.

However this dream felt much like as when she'd been in the House of the Undying and she knew that it was no normal dream she was within. It was something for her to watch and be wary of.

Unsure of what was waiting for her within the heart of the cold glacier, Daenerys walked into the strange metal box connected to balcony. It was small and she was unsure of its purpose. On the wall next to the entry was a row of strange circles, almost like buttons embedded within the metal. The top one was glowing faintly like a candle and after some hesitation Daenerys pressed it.

The doors to the box shut down through no means Daenerys could detect, making her jump back. A odd whirling noise filled the air and Daenerys clung to the wall when she felt the box _move_. It wasn't falling, instead seeming to rise as if it was cargo being risen from a docked ship. But there was no titling or listing, the box just going up and up in a completely unnatural speed and precision.

Daenerys was too panicked to notice the numbers flashing on the glass above the doors, only snapping out of her fright when a high noise like a bird call sounded and the doors slid open, again with any outside influence. Daenerys all but ran out of the box, finding herself in a dimly lit corridor.

She looked back at the strange box, but it did nothing. Even the strange doors didn't roll back down. Still, she wasn't going near that thing again so after some wary staring she tentatively began to make her way down the hallway. It was of more metal and she could find no flame for the light emanating from the ceiling. She guessed it was much like the rotted heart in the House of the Undying, something strange and unnatural.

In the far distance she could see the exit of the hallway, seemingly another snowy plain like the vision she'd had before.

As she walked down the hall all the furniture she passed was foreign to her, not just all the metal but the odd things upon the tables. Some things looked as if they were boxes with glass openings but when she touched one it felt dense and was heavy like a small boulder. Most oddities littered the desks, quills with no feathers, rectangles of more smooth glass, strange small toys of bright colour and a material she couldn't name.

When she reached the mouth of the fort a snowy tundra awaited her. However her eye caught on a small office by the giant metal doorway, a great glass window and metal door to shield it from the brisk wind. When she entered there was another of the odd desks, and the metal boxes but this one also had countless notes strewn across it.

She shuffled through one of the pieces of vellum, noting how it was snowy white and strangely frail and thin. The text she couldn't read, despite being fluent in a multiple of languages. Even the leather-backed books were much the same, some of the same language as the vellum sheet but others also unknown to her. Others were notebooks which had scribbles and short sentences but it all remained infuriating unreadable to her.

However pinned to the wall next to the desk was a great portrait- or a painting, she wasn't sure as when she ran her fingers over the parchment she felt nothing like texture of paint or charcoal -and it was of Ghidorah, the backdrop golden with Ghidorah drawn in black sharp lines and edges to take up the majority of the parchment. He was breathing lightning down upon a herd of horsemen attempting to flee from him to no avail. 

A single sentence was etched along the lower right, also an unknown language. However as she brushed her fingertips across the lines they seemed to wiggle and squirm like a line of beetles before forming a short length of words in Old Valyrian.

_DEATH SONG OF THREE STORMS._

Daenerys felt a shiver run up her spine, her unbound hair sliding over her shoulders as she studied the sentence intently. When she took her fingers away the words became intelligible again. Her fingertips burned and cold sweat dotted her nape.

Giving the portrait a last lingering look Daenerys left, stepping out of the metal hall onto the tundra. The snow was soft beneath her feet, more of it tangling in her hair within the wind but she felt none of the chill.

She looked behind her, half expecting to see the great Wall looming over her again but there was just a low snowy cliff as a bracket before the light was stolen by the darkness of the storm clouds above. The entry to the hall was bright with the flameless lights, almost like the maw of some metal beast ready to swallow her whole.

Seeing no other path Daenerys continued to walk through the snow, her shift clinging to her body as she walked. There were several lights, much like the ones in the metal but in the shape akin to mushrooms stumped deep into the snow. She walked past several giant metal crates and strange metal structures but paid them no mind. She needed to find and understand the reason for her strange dream, thinking of that portrait and the great Ghidorah within the ice. There must be a reason.

Then the ground trembled and shook and she stumbled, nearly falling over as the ice shattered around her. Behind her the metal entry collapsed and most of the area around it in a massive sink hole, stopping only several yards from her feet. Snow and wind swept past her to be swallowed down in the huge gullet within the earth, Daenerys crouching for balance as the hem of her nightgown whipped against her bare thighs. She backed up, away from the lip of the massive hole which had abruptly opened.

Deep within the sinkhole she could see a golden light ignite, almost like a pit of fire had erupted within the snowy cavern.

Then a massive barbed tail rose into the air, ice cracking and falling away as the curved spines flexed. More flashes, the clouds above getting blacker as lightning began to crack and rumble. The wind tore at her hair and shift, Daenerys squinting through the flurry of snow as the tail was followed by one head, then two, and then three, each shaking off clinging ice chucks larger than her whole body.

It was Ghidorah, not as the youngling he currently was and barely reaching the size of her zorse but as a colossal beast that absolutely towered over her. He would even be bigger than the tallest pyramid of Astapor, one of the smaller scales dotted along his lips bigger than a round shield and a single horn longer than a fully grown oak. It was difficult for her to comprehend his sheer size against the black night and flurry of snow, even as lightning danced around his golden bulk and his call was eerie and rattling.

She had to move when Ghidorah shook himself off, the motion making the ice shelf in front of her collapse as he seemed oblivious to her tiny presence below his immense form. He tugged a gigantic wing free of the snow, the limb alone longer than all three of her ships aligned bow to stern, with lightning dancing across the golden membrane. The noise of ice shattering mingled with the thunder.

Daenerys' hair whipped around her as she avoided several great chunks of ice from crushing her, Ghidorah's shrieks sounding like the undulation of some unnatural bird screech. The storm above intensified in bright flashes as Ghidorah pulled his other wing free, making the earth tremble as he settled down the joints of both limbs to pull himself out of the sinkhole. His great tails whipped from side to side, striking more ice off the cliff behind him.

She skidded to a halt at a safe distance, feeling the ground shake against as Ghidorah's weight settled upon the ground even as the motion nearly knocked her down.

Then the left head noticed her, twisting down with serpentine grace to loom above her with a sharp squawk. Always observant, always watchful. With a slow, deliberate movement he lowered his great nose down further to sniff at her. Even with his snout pressed against the ground to inspect her she couldn't reach his upper lip at her full height. 

It may be a dream but Daenerys didn't care, instead reaching out for her child and feeling the leathery skin underneath her hands. He was so immense her hand couldn't even span a single scale of his lip. She rested her forehead against his chin, closing her eyes as she tried to reach out to him, much like she'd done in Astapor.

Instead of the murky, childish mind she was used to it felt as if she was touching an ocean; not the blue waves near the beaches and land, or the sparkling length of water stretched to the horizon while they sailed on ships, but the black unknown depths several days from the nearest body of land. Something ancient and alien, something monstrous and merciless and so terribly hungry.

She knew of the deeds her ancestors wrought, knew dragons were spectacular and beautiful but ferocious and unyielding. Of Balerion who's shadow cast whole villages under blackness and breath which scorched thousands into ash. They held no kindness for any naught but their kith and kin and perhaps not even then so, as the Dance aptly displayed. But this was her child and she had born him from the bones of her dead husband and fed him at her breast like any mother would before his fangs grew in.

 _I am the blood of the dragon,_ she thought, _If he is a monster then so am I. Fire and blood._

When Daenerys pulled away all three heads were fixated upon her, six sets of great crimson eyes staring unblinkingly at her. His exhales washed over her, the air hot enough it melted the snowflakes tangled within her hair. A single tooth was longer than a any of the Unsullied spears.

Then his middle head jerked up, hissing angrily and the other two followed suit. He started searching, long necks twisting around as he started to scan the surrounding area. Daenerys was confused before she noticed a light pulsating towards them over her shoulder.

A great blue glow had emanated just below the ice half a league away, like a lamp within a fog. The light was vivid among the white and dark of the snowy tundra and the dark storm and Ghidorah growled, a low rumbling noise.

Then the ice cracked and some great reptilian thing heaved itself out of the ground, the thick spikes scales of its spine glowing with the bright blue energy which steadily faded back into darkness. Its bipedal body was bulky and covered in thick black scales like the hide of a crocodile, huge and towering like Ghidorah. Its tail swept through the snow as it took several steps towards Ghidorah, its massive muzzle wrinkled in a ferocious snarl. The ice groaned under its weight but didn't break as it stalked forward.

Ghidorah hissed at the new creature, rising back on his hind legs to flare out his great wings in a buffet of air and snow. Lightning thrummed through the clouds around them, as both creatures stared at one another even as Daenerys hurriedly backed away.

Then the black scaled beast let out a scream that seemed to rattle her bones before charging forth, Ghidorah shrieking right back before leaping forward with a sweep of his wings. The two collided so hard it blew away the blizzard in a burst of air, Daenerys also stumbling from the air buffet only to fall over as her bare foot slipped on a rock buried in the snow.

She fell on her side as the giant Ghidorah and the black scaled beast attacked each other, biting and snapping at one other with feral abandon while screeching so loud she felt her eardrums would burst.

Daenerys rolled over, about to push herself up onto her feet when she froze; for looking up at her, partially buried in the snow and bracketed by her hands, was a half rotted skeleton. Not a rock.

She had seen dead before and was discomforted by touching them but what really made her tense was the eye staring at her from the flesh-peeled skull. An eye with a pale blue iris, wet and watching her. Daenerys recoiled, stumbling back to her feet only to nearly slip over another partially buried body until she realized that underneath the top layer of snow the ground was now coated in corpses. Some near skeletons with bones exposed but others fresh as if they'd just been slain. All staring at her from the snow with the same strange blue eyes.

The fight between the giant Ghidorah and the black-scaled beast faded in the background, even the noise of their screams becoming dull as if underwater.

Instead her gaze snapped up to be caught upon a strange figure in the distance, nearly swallowed by the dark night and blizzard. A strange figure who did nothing but stare at her in turn. Despite that it was as if he was cast entirely within shadow, Daenerys only able to see the edges of armour and what looked like the points of a crown jutting from his skull. Otherwise it was as if she was looking at a silhouette.

Except for his eyes. A horrible, awful blue that seemed to bore right through into her brain to twist in deep like harpoons in whale flesh. Unlike the dead still staring at her from the ground his were a brilliant blue that filled his whole eyes. 

Daenerys was caught in a staring contest she couldn't break, feeling the hairs along her arms and nape stand on end as the shadowy figure continued to watch her even as in the distance Ghidorah and the black scaled beast continued to fight. Behind the man a tree began to bloom, with an ash-white trunk and leaves trapped within great drips of ice. A spiral of stones slowly rose around them and Daenerys found herself looking down at her feet, now seeing herself clad in strange armour with a glowing green flask in one hand and a sword in the other. Off in the distance she heard the screech of a murder of crows.

Then skeletal hands wrapped around her ankles and Daenerys didn't even have time to scream before she was sucked down into darkness, the tundra vanishing as she was pulled away.

She landed on her back, hard enough the air was knocked from her lungs.

For a long moment she didn't move, despairing almost as she felt cold stone beneath her rather than the furs of her bed. When she opened her eyes she could see a ceiling of a dull grey rock.

 _Will this horrible dream not end?_ Daenerys thought. She'd had strange dreams before, dreaming of a great black dragon and fire after learning of her being sold as a bride. The dream came to her each night before her wedding night then ceased into nothing. But this one with the scaled beast and gigantic vision of Ghidorah, of that terrible man and his terrible eyes, was unlike any she'd felt before.

And when she got to her feet, now wearing the blue dress of Qarth and back within the House of the Undying, she didn't know what to think. She still felt frightened by that blue-eyed man and the countless silent dead who'd watched her, half buried in the snow. Even being in the House of the Undying, in the room where Ghidorah had been chained even if the plinth remained bare, did little to sooth her unease. She still felt that if she'd turn he would be there, watching her.

Instead when Daenerys turned there was someone else watching her from the alcove, someone tall and strange.

The figure was lean, cloaked in a hooded black robe with a dark red lacquer wooden mask in place of a face. A necklace of golden rested upon the stranger's breast, more golden bands around their pale wrists and dripping down in tiny raindrops along the hem of their hood. Daenerys was unsure about their intention, sidling around until the plinth was between her and the stranger.

"I am Quaithe of the Shadow," the person said, voice barely above a whisper and making Daenerys tense, "And I mean you no harm, Daenerys Stormborn."

"Did you see what I just saw?" Daenerys questioned, her own voice just as soft. The man with the blue eyes still burned at her mind.

"Dragon dreams belong to the Targaryens alone," the woman replied, "None else may see them but you should heed them. But your mind is stronger after this and thus my means of reaching to you once said dream stopped."

"What do you want of me? I am not fond of maegi," Daenerys said, "How do I know you are not here to trick me?"

"You have suffered loss but how many had died at the hands of steel?" Quaithe questioned, "Sorcery is seen as a great sin or natural by many but you are of Old Valyria, tied to the dragons and magic runs thick in your veins. You cannot deny that part of yourself, nor should you. For your enemies are many and you need all the protection you can garner. Yet if you feel I am to lead you astray you may ask your knight, Ser Jorah. I told him of where your enemy was within Quarth, of the House of the Undying and how to find it so you may reunite with your dragon."

"Pyat Pree did not think the same, he stole my child from me," Daenerys said. The woman was strange but she kept her distance from Daenerys, as if sensing her unease. And if what she said was true about Jorah then she had aided them in finding Ghidorah so swiftly in Qarth. Now the dream also began to feel different from before, or even her vision within the House of the Undying. Blurring at the edges as if she were about to fall back into a true sleep.

"Pyat Pree was a fool," Quaithe said, "Dragons never prosper chained in the dark. His greed consumed whatever wits he had and you aptly punished him for his crime."

Daenerys hesitated, looking from Quaithe's red mask to the empty plinth before her, "Pyat Pree also said when Ghidorah was born a new age began and the rules of magic changed. One part of why he coveted him. Is that why you have come to me?"

"The glass candles are burning," Quaithe nodded, the tiny golden drops clinging to her hood edge sparkling with the movement, "Something which has not happened since the dragons died. Their flame returned with your child yet the flame is gold and sharp in a way fire should not be. He is the beginning of a new era, a new age for the dragons and this every world. However not all who awake look upon it with wonder, rather than seek out destruction of everything until the whole world is consumed within a Long Night. But yes, it is also a part of why I wish to aid you. Magic was dying, slowly much like the dragons had done, and without your aid our wonders and strength will have remained ill and feeble. Now it is as if I can finally breathe and I will not be ungrateful to the one who gave me this strength."

"So why have you reached out to me now?"

"To share a warning. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world," Quaithe said, "And when they see they shall lust for him and seek to control him through you. For all age dragons have been fire made flesh but your child is beyond even the Valyrian dragons of old. He is storm and light, R'hllor's interest in you is known to the red priests and is being spread. Beware their whispers, Daenerys Stormborn, and what you may see within flame."

"R'hllor? Do these priests mean me harm?" Daenerys asked. The name was familiar to her, she'd heard it in Pentos before and had seen the strange red priests who worshipped this 'Lord of Light' while walking the markets.

"Gods are fickle beings and men and women are prone to mistakes. If you listen to their whispers too strongly they will bend you to their will and that of their red god."

"Why are you warning me of this? What is your intention?" she asked suspiciously. Surely the woman could not just be grateful for Ghidorah's birth bring back magic? The witch was putting herself at great risk.

"I wish to show you the way," Quaithe replied.

"What way is that?"

Quaithe stepped forward, light flickering across her red mask, "Your child shall be a king among all dragons and magic. Sons learn from their mothers, you must teach him much. Teach him restraint and fury least we are devoured by a worst storm, a worst Night than even the one which will come forward from a god of ice, one of night, with a shadow of light. When I saw you in Qarth I knew I must watch and guide you. You proved yourself within the House of the Undying and Astapor, to be ready to shoulder the burden of what is needed."

"What burden?" Daenerys was still unsure of the witch, especially as her limbs began to feel even heavier. The pull of sleep was strengthening as the stone around her blurred until Quaithe's blood-red mask seemed to fill her vision.

"You must look beneath the rivers and gold to seek the bitter steel within the waters, but beware the screaming horn and the urge to dance with fellow dragons. To bring the spring you must pass through the red heart of winter," Quaithe's voice was as soft and light as spiderwebs.

After a moment of hesitation Daenerys asked, "But what of my dream? My...dragon dream?"

"Only a dragon can understand such a thing but beware of dreams and prophecies. They may not be as they seem. Heed them but do not bind yourself to them. I can only say what I must say."

And with that the dream faded completely, Quaithe's eyes gleaming like jewels through the slits of her mask before slipping away.

* * *

When she stirred it was among the furs of her bed, within her tent. She could see the low glow of sunrise through the fabric of her tent but she felt almost suffocated, pressed down and pinned among the fur by a heavy weight resting on her.

For a moment Daenerys didn't know what was happening and was about to panic until she realized that at some point during the night Ghidorah had ripped open her tent and crawled into her bed. She could see in the far side of her tent there was a large tear and two Unsullied silently standing guard before it. Clearly they knew her child was permitted within her presence so had made no effort to wake her with Ghidorah's entrance. Her child was essentially lying on top of her, a wing draped over her and the length of her body pressed against his side, face tucked between his left and middle neck so her nose was pressed against his wide throat scales. He was so long his tails was trailing along the floor, his other wing stretched over the side of the bed like a ragged tapestry.

While his left and middle heads were entwined around her like a serpents nest, one of her arms draped over them, while his right head was on the pillow with mouth open so his forked tongue was lolling out to drool upon the fabric. She could see the way the red flesh of his mouth twitched and flexed with his breathing and even as she watched he started to twitch, eyelids flexing and muscles jumping in his muzzle. The barbed tips of his tails scratched at the ground and Daenerys pat the golden scales under her hand.

She wondered if her 'dragon dream' came about from Ghidorah's proximity to her. That dream of a great Ghidorah fighting the strange black scaled beast and that man with those horrible blue eyes. A dragon dream. She had known of Daenys the Dreamer, who was the reason why the Targaryens escaped the Doom of Valyria through her vision years before. But otherwise her knowledge of mages within her own blood was lacking. Even the books Jorah had gifted her did not speak much of it, Westeros hostile towards magic.

Such as that witch, the strange shadowbinder. She was unsure if it really was vision or simply another dream.

 _Is she an enemy too or only a dangerous friend?_ Daenerys thought. Quaithe was strange and mysterious, not just due to her mask and cryptic words but also due to being a witch. But she thought of Quaithe's comment to ask Jorah, citing that she'd helped Jorah located Ghidorah's place of imprisonment in Qarth. If that was true then it had aided them in bringing Xaro to swift retribution shortly after. They most likely would have been caught and killed if they had to search Qarth for days to locate the House of the Undying.

Quaithe had been insistent she meant not harm to Daenerys and was grateful for the rebirth of magic. Still, Daenerys couldn't help but be wary. She had lost her husband and son to magic she had foolishly trusted. But Quaithe was also correct in how many more had died from steel and swords. She didn't know what to think.

_'You must look beneath the rivers and gold to seek the bitter steel within the waters, but beware the screaming horn and the urge to dance with fellow dragons. To bring the spring you must pass through the red heart of winter.' Is that a prophecy? And what of the red priests?_

Daenerys had learned, harshly, that prophecies weren't so straightforward as some may say. Rhaego died, who had been flouted as the Stallion who would mount the world but he had been murdered inside her. Death could easily undo such a thing and death came easily in the world she lived in. But was it prophecy? Or a cryptic warning? Another vexing thing of magic, how it preferred to twist and squirm rather than be straightforward. She did not know if she could trust that woman and her blood-red mask. Did not even know if it even was more than just a dream.

Then outside the tent she heard footsteps approaching and then a low rap of armoured knuckles on the support pole just outside. 

"Khalessi? It is daybreak," Jorah called to her yet did not enter.

Ghidorah growled, not even bothering to open his eyes, and after a moment Daenerys began the difficult task of untangling herself from her child. She could think upon the witch and her words when they continued their march to Yunkai, but until then she had to continue to learn what it meant to be a queen, what it meant to lead a campaign and all the arduous logistics it entailed. She would have to wait until the witch reached out to her again, if Quaithe would even do so, and question her further. If she truly wanted to extend a hand to Daenerys or if it was just a dream of fancy.

After all a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany saw the [First Contact](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zlli6kEEBM0) and [Arctic Controntation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCo2S76m57Y) scenes. There will be no other kaiju in this fic.
> 
> Also in terms of the magic being now connected to Ghidorah, he basically did the same thing as he did in KoM- in which he essentially 'highjacked' the position of apex predator i.e dragon due to the dragon's extinction much like he did with Godzilla and how he could control the other kaiju as King despite not being of Earth. He did the same by default with the dragons and their magic, since there was an open 'vacancy'. If the dragons had still been alive he would've had to kill them when he was large enough to do so to gain that position but since they were extinct he took over that role by default.
> 
> Of course all the characters are unaware Ghidorah is an invasive alien species, not a true dragon. Well, most will be.


	6. KNIGHTS

* * *

"King Robert wanted her dead."

"Of course he wanted her dead. She's a Targaryen. The last Targaryen." Barristan's voice was calm, simply stating a fact.

"I suppose no one on the small council could speak sense to him."

"I didn't sit on the small council."

"No? Doesn't the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard traditionally-"

"Traditionally, yes, but I killed a dozen of Robert's friends during his rebellion. He didn't want advice on how to govern from a man who had fought for the Mad King. Can't say I minded much. I always hated the politics."

"Yeah, I imagine I would, too. Hours spent jabbering about backstabbings and betrayals the world over."

Barristan gave a low hum of acknowledgement to Jorah's comment. He'd grown in Westeros, knew how vicious Kings Landing could be with their 'game'. Daenerys hadn't yet mastered the lighter touch of politics but she was honing her skills each day. With the addition of the old knight, Daenerys had requested he verse her in more political arts of address and courtly skills. Though Barristan was no great lord he had still spent decades in Kings Landing and shared his experiences without hesitation. Still, Jorah was wary of the man. He been with them not even a week and already Daenerys was welcoming him directly to her side. The only thing that had stopped Jorah from protesting his queen's decision was the knowledge of Ser Barristan's honour, which was well known among Westeros Houses. He doubted Barristan would harm Daenerys but he was still quite the unknown to Jorah. Whenever Daenerys invited the old knight for their evening talks Jorah would insist on standing guard outside her tent along with one of her bloodriders.

Daenerys had welcomed the knight with open arms and Jorah reminded himself it was her decision. Even if she was still a young girl, naught even in her twentieth year, she was his queen and he needed to respect that. Even if it was difficult at times, having spent many months being one of the few by her side when she'd been apart of Khal Drogo's khalasar and their shared Westerosi roots giving them a connection neither else had.

As the two knights conversed the sky was clear and the sun was shining high above the army as they marched. Jorah and Barristan were riding their horses apace along the plains next to the long river, even as the Unsullied followed the worn dirt road. Daenerys was upon the back of her zorse, white hair glinting gold as she cantered through the lines of Unsullied with her three bloodriders close behind her. The rest of her little khalasar were walking with the stock horses and wagons, some of the children playing around the green bushes and laughing, high excited voices easily heard over the rhythmic pace of armoured boots. Daenerys had insisted the pace for her army to be conservative, wanting to come to the next slaver city of Yunkai fully rested which Jorah had accepted without question. She was growing shrewd to the ways of war and she would need all the experience she could get before she marched to Westeros.

But she was learning, and quickly too. Added in the logistics of leading an army, or more importantly _feeding_ an army and he knew Daenerys was being worked to the bit though the fire in her violet eyes never once waned. The ships gifted to her proved invaluable and many of the freedmen who chose to follow her would take their own flocks. Even now at the back of the Unsullied there was scores of sheep and goats being herded along, most of their meat being salted and preserved when slaughtered for army rations. There were also weaponsmiths, their wagons pulled by great draft horses to burden their smithing equipment. Daenerys had spent hours in her command tent with her council, learning everything needed for war.

Her khalasar had also grown; with the sacking of Astapor, over two hundred Dothraki traded to the masters had been freed and at Daenerys' command she assigned her bloodriders to train them as calvary. Her original khalasar, those who chose her on the fields, were still kept closest to her and Jorah had seen the women teaching the children how to sew, creating flags and banners which showcased the crimson Targaryen dragon. Her bloodriders also painted their horses in streaks of crimson dye, black and red ribbons tied in their steeds mane and tails. Their Khalessi had grown strong.

Above, the sharp call of her dragon rang through the air and Jorah's horse shifted uneasily. He patted the dark shoulder, seeing the muscles twitch beneath fine hair. Barristan also shifted uncomfortably next to him, gaze darting up to the blue sky where they could see the golden dragon's form as it slowly followed Daenerys above.

Jorah ignored his anxiety over the strange trilling cry of the dragon, instead glancing over towards Daenerys and her zorse, "She'll have to wade through that political muck if she wants to rule the Seven Kingdoms."

Both Jorah and Barristan dismounted, leading their horses to the edge of the river where the thirsty animals immediately started drinking. In the march they could see the golden-eyed scribe who Daenerys had taken as a handmaiden riding her own horse at a low walk next to one of the supply wagons where Strong Belwas was walking with and eating a sizeable portion of horse jerky. The pit fighter clearly had no complaints about such a meal. Also a benefit of the Unsullied, as they did not make demands for better rations. Many a march had gone to pot over fighting for food.

"She'll have good men around her to advise her, men with experience," Barristan replied.

"What men do you have in mind?"

"Forgive me, Ser Jorah, for what I'm about to say, but your reputation in Westeros has suffered over the years."

Jorah gave a grunt, stoking his horse's neck, "It suffered for a reason. I sold men into slavery."

"I don't know if your presence by her side will help our cause when we go home." There was a pointed note in the old knight's tone.

"Our cause? Forgive me, Ser Barristan, but I was busy defending the Khaleesi against King Robert's assassins while you were still bowing to the man," Jorah's voice got a bite into it at the end. 

Barristan wasn't put off by Jorah's words, "We both want her to rule. Am I wrong?"

"You only joined us a few days ago. I can't speak to your intentions." 

"If we're truly her loyal servants, we will do whatever needs to be done, no matter the cost, no matter our pride." 

"You're not Lord Commander here. You're just another exile. And I take my orders from the queen," Jorah growled, tugging on his horse's reins to pull it away from the river.

"As you say-"

Both men tensed as the dragon suddenly descended down to the river bank several feet from them, thick buffets of air stirring up dirt and dust as the three headed dragon flared out its wings. The ground grumbled as it landed, claws clawing long furrows into the dirt before it tucked its great leathery wings against its sides. It was bigger than a horse now when resting on all fours, even if Jorah had noticed the dragon had the odd habit of standing up on its hind legs like some deranged meerkat.

He nearly wanted to make a snarky comment over the way Barristan took a step back when the creature landed but Jorah also felt the instinctive urge to brace himself as the dragon's right head swivelled around to stare at them, even as the other two heads began to drink from the river. Its long barbed tails flicked back and forth, the spiked tips the size of a flanged mace.The smooth plates upon the undersides of its throats shifted and flexed as it drank.

"Dragons won the throne before, defeated the North without even a single battle," Barristan said, watching the dragon closely as its one head glared back with glittering crimson eyes, "Many would say a Targaryen having a three headed dragon is a sign from the Gods."

Jorah made no comment; Daenerys was of much the same, claiming Ghidorah's hatching for her being a sign she was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Jorah didn't put much stock in Gods but he couldn't shake off the feeling that the golden dragon was hardly a benevolent gift. Then again Aegon the Conqueror did not win the Kingdoms through gentle words and calm reasoning, he burnt his enemies to ash upon Balerion's back and with his sister-wives at his side.

And Ghidorah, when fully grown, would most likely be capable of such a thing. He could still remember the reek of the Good Master's skin as his flesh blackened under the lightning breath of the golden dragon, unleashed without hesitation upon the words of Daenerys. He was unsure of what to think if Ghidorah ever reached the size of the old Targaryen dragons; already it was far larger than the Last Dragon, which had been barely more than the size of a chicken. 

"Dragons have only ever obeyed those of Old Valyria," Jorah said instead, "Until the Doom occurred they had no equal."

The golden dragon finished its drinking, muzzles dripping water as all three of its heads turned to look at the two knights. Its teeth were the length of daggers while the ribbed horns curling back from the crown of each skull was as thick as a rams. Still, Jorah always found the most disquieting thing about the dragon to be its eyes. Daenerys did not care, fussing over the creature as if it were her own child, but Jorah had to set his jaw to not recoil as the golden dragon approached them on all fours.

The horses shied away, flicking their tails and whinnying nervously at the dragon's approach. The right head already had its muzzled wrinkled, while the middle was arched back like snake. The left meanwhile had its head cocked to the side, watching Barristan closely as a forked tongue flicked out like a curious snake. The thick muscles along the arms of its wings shifted underneath its golden scales, making the sunlight sparkle off them like diamonds as it stopped short of a foot from them. Its breath smelled of blood.

"Ser dragon," Barristan finally said, keeping a firm grip on his horse's reins.

Jorah said nothing, knowing far better than to draw his sword to his Khalessi's dragon regardless of how much it was eyeing him like a dog would a mutton chop.

Then they heard Daenerys' sweet voice call out, easily heard over the rhythmic footsteps of the army upon the march. The dragon's snarling dropped as its right head twisted around to spot Daenerys peached upon her zorse at the top of a small knoll and looking over at them. The three headed dragon reared up on its hind legs, calling back with a bird-like trill before Jorah had to shield his eyes as the dragon abruptly unfurled its wings and took to the air in a swirl of dust. The dragon quickly flapped over to Daenerys, landing down next to her to which she immediately started stoking its head.

Jorah scrubbed at his brow before swinging himself back up onto his horse, suddenly feeling cold and clammy despite the heat.

"Our queen has a heavy journey ahead of her," Barristan murmured, still watching Daenerys and her dragon.

"And I intend to be with her every step of the way," Jorah replied, before spurring his horse back over to the march.

* * *


	7. The Yellow City

* * *

Daenerys found herself fitting back on the saddle of her zorse as easily as if she'd never left. She'd missed riding, having spent months more in a saddle than upon the ground with Drogo, and felt almost as if she'd gone back there in their trek through the great grass sea. Urging her striped one through the plains with her bloodriders following close behind, the smell of horse and heat thick in her nostrils she could almost think she was simply a typical khalessi.

However she never could due to Ghidorah, the golden dragon following her above with his scales sparkling like freshly polished coins in the warm Essos sun as he soared along with her riding. No khalessi had ever had a dragon, much less one for a child, and she would never be the unsure violet-eyed wife to a Khal again. Instead she was the Mother to the last dragon in existence, regardless of how easily she settled back upon the saddle of a horse.

Especially as the small childish part of Daenerys, that part that which still longed for the house with the red door and the lemon tree, that wanted to simply find a peaceful simple life to live, grew more and more excited each day as Ghidorah was slowly and steadily getting larger than her steed. He was already far longer than the zorse but now he was rapidly getting large enough to _ride._

Of course Daenerys knew nothing about dragon riding. The books Jorah had gifted her were precious and offered insight to her family history to augment what Viserys had told her, but there had been nothing about riding a dragon. She wasn't sure where to start and if she should wait until he was larger. And how would she do it? Simply climb onto his back? She did notice he had two lines of spikes along his central neck, the sharp spines long and thick enough she could use them as grips but his spine was also littered with more of the pikes.

But still. _Dragon riding._

Daenerys flushed, nearly squirming in her saddle as she cantered through the lines of Unsullied. She'd taken to doing so as a means to familiarize herself with her new army along with letting them see their new queen. She wanted to show them she wasn't going to be some distant force or someone who would punish them for the slightest mishap but rather someone who would treat them fairly like any decent ruler would. There was also the freedmen who accompanied them from Astapor who Daenerys was slowly familiarizing herself with along with the logistics of running an army and campaign. 

But always her thoughts would go back to Ghidorah. Back to the potential of riding him and being the first dragon rider in centuries. She'd always dreamed of riding dragons, of flying through the clouds and above the fields. When she and Viserys were hiding from assassins she could dream of dragons, of leaping upon ones spiked back to take to the air where none could harm her. Where she could lavish fire upon those who sought to kill two frightened children.

Now she had a dragon, one of three heads and golden scales who breathed storm not fire. Out of all the Targaryens since the Last Dragon died she alone managed to hatch one. That Ghidorah chose her. Because she knew he had, could feel it through their bond whenever they touched. Dragons were no mere beasts so she knew that if she was to ride him she wouldn't approach him like a horse or other stock. It was something she brooded upon as they marched, in-between learning more of her army and meeting the Unsullied commander Grey Worm who she welcomed into her council. 

There was also the freeman army, being nearly seven thousand but barely armed and without training. She placed several dozen Unsullied throughout their ranks to teach weaponry and implement training though not as harsh as the Masters had been. Of the Unsullied the additional six hundred were those in training so she would not be sending them into battle soon.

Yunkai, from what Jorah told her, would be like Qarth. Most likely they would barricade themselves inside to wait her out. Chip away at her army throughout the days as they languished in the open plains.

She did not want to arrive in Westeros with half her army dead and the rest weak. Ser Barristan warned her about sieges and the double edged sword they represented.

Too bad all the songs about the glory of battle failed to take into account the logistical nightmare behind them all. Especially the travel time. As beautiful as the landscape of Essos was along with the fair weather it was arduous in their journey.

Even if each day Ghidorah grew more, his muscles grew thicker and his form became longer as his wings grew wider. When he flew above her when the sun was directly above her zorse was thrown in shadow. It made her think of the tales of Balerion, who's massive silhouette supposedly threw entire towns into darkness when he soared over head. She wondered if Ghidorah would ever get that large. 

Missandei stayed close by her side as well, the scribe taken as her handmaiden. Daenerys was careful not to scare the other woman, not blind to the almost tentative nature Missandei directed towards her. Though she'd killed the Masters Daenerys knew a single act couldn't erase years of slavery and abuse. Her khalasar welcomed Missandei, especially the likes of Lessa who'd been previously a slave before willingly following Daenerys and interacted with the scribe easily enough. Her khalasar still remained close to her, with her bloodriders still keeping control of her little calvary which gave her kos prestige among her army.

Due to the scribe's intense knowledge of various languages, she helped Daenerys tidy up the tongues she spoke. While she was fluent in the Westeros common tongue, Valyrian and Dothraki she still occasionally had hiccups in her knowledge. Missandei gently corrected her upon improper word usage in Dothraki which Daenerys still had issues with. Valyrian come so naturally for her. Daenerys took pains to not scold the scribe, accepting the woman's careful prompts and aid in braiding her hair and dressing. The only times Daenerys saw fit to do so was when correcting Missandei when the woman incorrectly assumed Ghidorah was nothing more than a pet. It was an innocent observation, one Daenerys felt was borne from the woman's times as a slave where she was treated less than, but it reminded her of Qarth when Jorah tried to rebuke her claimant of Ghidorah as her child. Missandei instantly accepted the correction, apologized for the mistake and acted accordingly.

Ghidorah, after some suspicious hissing and sniffing, seemed unbothered by Missandei. He would typically settle in the tent whenever Daenerys had her daily bath, his scales rustling over the ground and ignoring Missandei as the woman carefully avoided stepping upon his tails or wings when she bustled about the tent. Her baths usually turned into an impromptu language session which Daenerys didn't mind even if she enjoyed speaking Valyrian the most.

It also became the language she predominantly used to talk to Ghidorah. The three headed dragon had the habit of crawling into her tent at night, much like when she had her dragon dream but he was deceptively warm despite his scales. Any who called a dragon a 'lizard' had clearly never touched one. Same with her readings, grown substantially now she had access to gold and ships, as she remembered reading about the Blackfyres. She also knew Ser Barristan was the one to kill the last Targaryen seed, Maelys Blackfyre, who the knight had felled during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. The seed was also known as Maelys the Monstrous, due to his size and disturbing secondary head affixed to his neck. Daenerys had to ponder at how her life may have changed, if the last Blackfyre had been alive when she and Viserys fled to Essos.

There were things she told to Ghidorah, important aspects of the Targaryen history. Her connection with him was strongest when touching and most nights she fell asleep with her fingers stroking the golden scales of his heads. Numerous times she dreamt, not the vivid dream of the place of ice with the terrible man of blue eyes but of flight. Of flying high above the plains or even as Rhaegar and flying over the green of the Trident to blast her enemies to dust. When she spoke of the three Targaryens who forged the Seven Kingdoms she visualized them upon the backs of their dragons. Of Balerion with his scales and wings as black as night and who cast whole towns in darkness as he passed. Of Meraxes with her scales of silver and eyes of molten gold. Of Vhagar with her scales of bronze struck through with veins of blue with her eyes as green as emeralds.

Ghidorah seemed fascinated by the stories of dragons and a part of Daenerys lamented that he was the last of his kind. While she may be the last Targaryen she wasn't the last human in the world. Ghidorah had no such comfort and she knew dragons lived far longer than humans. The notion that her child would end up alone felt like ice in her chest.

Then common sense came to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of all the perils of her current course. She wasn't oblivious many wished her dead, even with the Usurper gone. But still, being the last of a species wasn't a burden she wished upon her child. She thought of the ruins of Old Valyria to the south, among the Smoking Sea and wondered if there was anything left. Any eggs such as the ones she was granted upon her wedding that perhaps were fossilized through the Doom. Daenerys wasn't sure and she'd heard of the horrors that lurked in the ruins. Something to ponder a different time.

As it was when they arrived at Yunkai, close enough to be noticed but not close enough to be attacked, Daenerys ordered Grey Worm to deliver the city her terms of surrender. She ignored Jorah's suggestion that she ignore the city. She would not tolerate the Masters and woe to any who dared stand before her.

The Wise Masters, as it was, answered her summons.

Grazdan mo Eraz came carried upon the backs of slaves, lean of statue with eyes cold. His tokar was edged in golden Myrish lace despite the almost plain appearance, the fabric swirling around him as he stepped into her pavilion.

Daenerys was seated comfortably among the plush pillows of her lounge chair set upon a small rise, dressed in a flowing dress of white to stave off the Essos heat. To the sides her Queensguard awaited while her bloodriders remained at the front of the pavilion. Ghidorah was settled behind her, long enough he nearly stretched the length of the tent with necks curled around; one was resting upon the pillows, another upon her lap while the middle watched the Wise Master approach with glittering crimson eyes.

Ghidorah hissed, sparks snapping around his jaws when the Wise Master got too close and the slaver wisely halted even as Missandei finished the man's titles. She resisted the urge to curl her lip at the one of 'Noble House' until Missandei finished which the master's offered terms of peace. 

Then the scribe introduced Daenerys, her voice calm and clear as she said, "Noble lord you stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Queen of the Andales and First Men, Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Ghidorah."

Daenerys blinked once at the shift in the last title but otherwise her violet stare didn't budge from the Wise Master. He was watching Ghidorah apprehensively even as Daenerys continued to stroke the horned head settled across her lap. The weight was putting her legs to sleep but she ignored the sensation to instead beckon the man.

"You may approach. Sit."

Lessa darted in, swiftly placing down a stool before just as quickly retreating back to her position at the side of the pavilion. Then Missandei stepped forward with a goblet and flagon, politely offering the slaver refreshment which he accepted. Daenerys didn't drop her stare, knowing Grazdan's slow drinking was some petty power place on his behalf. Her fingers idly brushed Ghidorah's horns as his tails rasped across the ground.

When Grazdan finally spoke his voice was almost raspy, "Ancient and glorious is Yunkai. Our empire was old before dragons stirred in Old Valyria. Many an army has broken themselves against our walls. You will not find an easy conquest here."

The Wise Master faltered when Ghidorah moved, wings rustling as he shifted so all three heads were watching the slaver. A long forked tongue flicked out before Ghidorah hissed with all heads at the slaver, his serpentine necks bracketing Daenerys like an honour guard. She stroked the nearest neck until his glare lessened.

"Good. My Unsullied need practice, I was told to blood them early," Daenerys said tartly. Ghidorah let out a low growl, as if in agreement.

"If blood is your desire then blood shall flow, I pride myself on my knowledge of the savage senseless west where you are from." Grazdan said, leaning forward as a nasty tone entered his voice. Then he seemed to gather himself, venomous expression slipping away into something faux polite as he continued with, "and yet, why should we speak thus harshly to one another? It is true that you committed savageries in Astapor, but we Yunkai’i are a most forgiving people. Your quarrel is not with us, Your Grace. Why squander your strength against our mighty walls when you will need every man to regain your father’s throne in far Westeros? Yunkai wishes you only well in that endeavour, and to prove the truth of that, the Wise Masters of Yunkai have a gift for the silver queen."

At his gesture the slaves moved, carrying two large chests with them. They couldn't hide their fear of Ghidorah even as Daenerys continued to stroke her child's neck. She could feel the dragon's irritation even if it shifted to curiosity as the slaves opened the chests to reveal them full of solid gold bars. Ghidorah twisted around his right most head so he could nose at the nearest chest. The sparkling gold matched his scales. Daenerys eyes flicked over to Jorah, and could tell with a glance the knight knew the gold was pure, before flicking back to Grazdan as he continued to speak.

"There is more of this awaiting you on board your ships."

A pale eyebrow arched, "My ships?"

"Yes Khalessi. As I said, we are a generous people. You shall have as many ships as you require."

"And what do you ask in return?"

"All we ask is that you make use of these ships. Sail back to Westeros where you belong and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace. Gold given freely is better than plunder bought with blood, surely? So I say to you, Daenerys Targaryen, take these chests and these ships, and go."

Daenerys frowned, watching the slaver closely. It was a good offer, she knew. The gold gifted to her already was not a small amount and then add in the ships and more gold waiting for her. They wanted her gone and were certainly not above bribing it that way.

Then her gaze shifted to the slaves who where bowed down on either side of Grazdan. She could see the heavy collars around their throats, marks of whips across their skin and scarring at their wrists. While Barristan had stated that Yunkai trained bedslaves, not soldiers, the Wise Masters still had need of labourers.

"I have a gift for you as well," Daenerys spoke, fingers tightening upon Ghidorah's scales at the way the slaver perked up at her words before finishing with a much colder, "Your life."

At Grazdan's confused look she elaborated with, "But I also want something in return. You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman, and child shall be given as much food, clothing, and property as they can carry as payment for their years of servitude. Reject this gift and I shall show you no mercy."

The Wise Master instantly got to his feet, offence colouring his words as he spat, "You're mad. You shall rue this arrogance, whore," Grazdan mo Eraz threatened her, "That little lizard will not keep you safe, I promise you. We will fill the air with arrows if it come within a league of Yunkai. Do you think it is so hard to kill a dragon?"

Before Daenerys or anyone else could respond, Ghidorah was already moving. His middle head was lowered like a bull, slamming right into Grazdan's sternum and knocking the Wise Master right over. The slaves scattered to avoid being bowled over by Ghidorah's outstretched wings even as he screamed right in Grazdan's face with all three heads while the slaver cowered on the ground.

Daenerys grabbed Ghidorah's nearest tail, it already thicker than her thigh, with her nails digging into the golden scales. She wouldn't particularly mind him killing the slaver but he needed to be her messenger.

Still, Ghidorah's impromptu attack had resulted in the Wise Master soiling himself and Daenerys' nose twitched as Ghidorah tucked his wings back and returned to her side. Grazdan struggled to get to his feet, fingers scrabbling on the ground of the pavilion as he scrambled backwards towards his litter.

"Perhaps a change of clothes?" Daenerys suggested mildly.

* * *

Two groups of sellswords had apparently been brought in to bolster the Yunkai army awaiting her.

The Stormcrows and the Second Sons they were called. Though her parley with them only went mildly better than her interaction with the Wise Master. A part of her was grateful Ghidorah was out hunting for the evening when that particular meeting took place. As it was Strong Belwas offered to cut Mero's tongue from his mouth due to the man's crass insults to her. Something she severely contemplated allowing the longer he remained in her presence.

She wasn't oblivious to the way the flamboyantly dressed Tyroshi captain was looking at her, though it was with less leering and more genuine interest compared with the Titan's bastard or the two other Stormcrow captains. The sellsword was gaudy even by the standards of Essos with his beard and hair dyed blue and clad in glittering gold and bronze. However the Stormcrows rejected her offer but the Second Sons did accept her gift of a wagon of wine.

Which she later told her council was intentional, in the hope the Second Sons would be drunk during the night when her army attacked. The battle plan she'd brooded upon throughout the day and while shuffling through all she'd learned, both from her books and from Jorah and Barristan. A surprise attack upon each flank by her Unsullied, Grey Worm and Jorah taking charge. Then her bloodriders, using their calvary to drive a wedge through the armies centre. Barristan and Strong Belwas were to stay at her podium as guards during the fight.

As they went through the details as a council a part of her entertained the idea of learning to ride Ghidorah so she could fly him into battle but at the same time she knew his scales weren't fully hardened. They were flexible and tough but certainly not the plates of armour like a fully grown dragon. She could still remember Grazdan's threat and wasn't about to put Ghidorah in battle until he was large enough to shrug off arrows and bolts. That and she'd had no practice riding him and no idea how to start. An imminent battle would be a poor place to first learn dragon riding so she resolved to keep Ghidorah by her side until Yunkai was hers.

Then, perhaps after, she could think upon learning to ride him.

They were waiting for midnight to come to pass when a message come to her through one of the Unsullied captains. One of the Stormcrows was caught attempting to sneak into her camp.

Daenerys returned to her podium, settling into her chair to receive the prisoner even as Ghidorah landed outside with a cloud of dust before crawling inside. Her knights moved to avoid touching the golden dragon as he settled behind her, much like he'd done so when she met with the Wise Master.

It was Daario Naharis, the gaudy Tyroshi of the Stormcrows who came bearing the severed heads of his fellow captains. A gift to her he grinned, uncaring of his bound arms. Along with the gift of the Stormcrows for the coming battle. Ghidorah certainly didn't mind the gift of heads, stretching out one neck to start gnawing upon the nearest one. She ignored the sound of flesh and bone breaking to carry on her staring of the sellsword who didn't seem to mind the scrutiny.

"This is unwise, my queen," Jorah said, eyes not leaving the bloodstained mercenary before them, "Keep him under guard and watch until the battle is decided."

"If he can give us the Stormcrows then surprise is certain," Daenerys said levelly. The man flashed her a smile that, if her control was any less, would've made her blush. Instead she simply narrowed her violet eyes at him.

"How can you know such?"

She swept a hand to her side where Ghidorah was chewing upon the bloodied offering the sellsword had brought to her, "I believe that is proof of his sincerity. Daario Naharis, have your Stormcrows ready to strike the Yunkish rear when my attack begins if you are genuine. Can you get back safely?”

At her gesture Grey Worm stepped forward to cut away Daario's bonds and his weapons were handed over to him. Neither Jorah nor Barristan dropped their hands from the hilts of their swords though Belwas was less concerned, chewing upon a charred goat thigh though she did note he had a more loose grip upon the weapon tied at his waist. Daenerys wondered if the man ever stop eating.

Daario rubbed at his wrists before stepping forward. He paused when Ghidorah's middle head swung around to regard him, the dragon's ruby eyes narrowing slightly. Daenerys' fingers brushed along Ghidorah's wing membrane but after a moment the dragon went back to tearing at the bloody meat upon the floor. He obviously didn't view the Tyroshi as much of a threat.

"I make of slaughter a thing of beauty and many a tumbler and fire dancer has wept to the gods that they might be half so quick, a quarter so graceful," Daario said, easily twirling his swords in calloused hands even if his eyes never left hers, "I would tell you the names of all the men I have slain, but before I could finish your dragon would grow large as a castle, the walls of Yunkai would crumble into yellow dust, and winter would come and go and come again. Let me pledge myself to you and I shall slaughter your enemies in your name."

"Draw your sword and swear it to my service." Daenerys said, her gaze leaving her child to focus upon the sellsword.

Without hesitation Daario dropped to one knee, his blue eyes bright as he spoke without falter, "The Stormcrows are yours. My sword is yours, my life is yours, my love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen."

* * *

The attack worked flawlessly. With Daario's contribution they also knew how to crack Yunkai from the inside out as the Tyroshi stayed true to his oath. During the fighting the captain of the Second Sons, Mero, fled while the rest threw down their arms once faced with overwhelming odds. Drunk from the wine she'd gifted as well, a plan that worked quite well for her side.

Jorah disapproved of using the sellsword and said so before the battle when the Tyroshi left back for the Stormcrows but Daenerys quite curtly informed him she wasn't so foolish to instantly trust Daario. It irked her at times, as it seemed he still saw her as the young girl alone and afraid at her wedding to Khal Drogo rather than the Dragon Queen. A peril of having him as a friend first rather than an advisor. 

Barristan meanwhile accepted her reasoning for accepting the sellsword, understanding that Daario was a means to an end. Belwas didn't seem to care either way. She did find herself chewing on some of the horse jerky the hefty pit fighter offered her, when her army had left for the battle. Ghidorah seemed intrigued by the fighting they could hear in the distance but chose to stay close to her side during the night which she was grateful for. She didn't want him harmed and, despite having overwhelming numbers, a tiny part of her had panicked she would lose.

But then the Yunkai army broke and the sellswords of the Second Sons surrendered, Yunaki itself was cracked open by the handful of Stormcrows who used the chaos of battle to slip into the largely undefended city to open the gates. And Daenerys knew the instant the gates opened a siege was all but over.

Only a dozen of her troops were lost in the fight.

When daybreak occurred she rode in upon the back of her zorse with Barristan and Belwas at her side and Ghidorah flying above her. She was greeted by Jorah, Daario and Grey Worm at the gates, bloodied but victorious and then she commanded her troops to free all the slaves within Yunkai and given their gift of as much wealth as they could carry as compensation for their past slavery. 

After some contemplation she left the city unsacked, replenishing only the supplies needed for her continued march to city of Meereen. Much like with Astapor her army of freemen grew, with more ex-slaves choosing to following her than remain in the Yellow City. The Second Sons, now under the command of Brown Ben Plumm due to Mero fleeing during the fight, chose to pledge themselves to her as well and followed her march.

As she rode her zorse past the newly freed slaves of Yunkai she heard them call out to her, crying the same word over and over.

 _Mhysa,_ they said.

Mother.

* * *


	8. The cliff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghidorah is [Meereen/Dohtraki Drogon](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fpa1.narvii.com%2F6427%2F6b00829428c00705cef17c5f541bfad5b0403158_hq.gif&f=1&nofb=1) size during this. I admit I'm...bad at understanding travel times and trying to find info for Dany's journey is hard- it takes months for armies to move on foot and all her Unsullied are horseless and she's keeping a modest pace. GRRM himself has said he doesn't really give a shit worrying about travel time lol so I'm just assuming it takes months to march from each slaver city (like how it takes over a month to get from Winterfell to Kingslanding on foot) so yeah, that's the time jump between each city.
> 
> By the time they reach Westeros Ghidorah will get to be Balerion size, and [here's a comparison between Balerion and Drogon](https://i.redd.it/0npnvz4i4ut21.jpg) and [sum more](https://i.redd.it/yf6v9nx9r2kz.png), since we got that photo of Kit standing next to the skull prop and Lena by it and goddamn Balerion was huge, little wonder people crapped their pants when he showed up he big boi

* * *

The outfit choice was reminiscent of her Dothraki garb; a mixture of horse leather and dark, tightly woven fibres. Trousers of woven fibres and leather flat soled shoes, guards for her knees and elbows, a long sleeved jerkin with leathered gloves for her hands. There was no loose articles to her clothing, everything snug and tight to avoid catching compared with her loose clothing choices of before. Daenerys' long silvery white hair was pulled back in a single utilitarian braid, the tiny bells woven in tight. She'd added a new one with the success of Yunkai's conquest.

Anxiety and anticipation roiled in her gut even if her face remained a serene mask. Missandei's hands were gentle but firm as the scribe finished tying the strip of leather in Daenerys' braid before stepping away. Her personal tent would be packed away soon, most of her space either her bed or the numerous books stacked within arms reach. Others were scrolls scribbled down with the logistics of her army, provisions or updates, of food or weapons or armour counts along with requests of supplies or audiences.

Daenerys brushed her hand against the nearest book stacked upon the table, with the title _The Reign of King Viserys, First of His Name, and the Dance of the Dragons That Came After_ inscribed across the leathered cover. It detailed the life of Viserys I Targaryen, who had been the fifth Targaryen king to sit upon the Iron Throne and had been her deceased brother's namesake. Though from what she read this Viserys had been a kind and gentle man, as plump as he was pleasant and well loved by his people. He was the last rider of Balerion before the great dragon's death of old age, the only recording she had of a Targaryen dragon passing within sleep rather than being killed. It was of the greatest pity that his children would enact the Dance of Dragons soon after his death, when he left the realm in such prolonged peace and prosperity for them.

She'd used her ships to acquire more books of her family's history and that of Old Valyria, of dragons and their riders and of Aegon and his sister-wives and her numerous ancestors and their dealings throughout the ages in Westeros. Things she read in her scant time alone before retiring to bed, with her child by her side as she got into the habit of reading to him aloud. Ghidorah was longer than her entire personal tent now, so he would be coiled up like a cat with his necks and tails draped over one another. When he stood upon his hind legs he was even taller than her tent at the shoulder, a single tail alone being over twelve feet in length and fangs growing to the same length of her hand.

Some of his outgrown fangs she'd kept, taking them to one of the freemen blacksmiths following her army. It was discovered his fangs were fantastically resilient to heat, even the molten core of a forge. So she'd compromised with the blacksmith forging a wrapped wire hilt of either silver, bronze or gold; gold she'd gifted to Grey Worm, as his position as commander of the Unsullied. Silver for the officers and then bronze she gifted to her kos and Queensguard. The daggers were more ceremonial than anything, a sign of status among her followers. She even had one made to replace her origin tooth necklace, instead now wearing one of the outgrown teeth of her child around her neck. 

One of the books she acquired claimed that some Targaryens were said to wear dragonskin armour, fireproof all but to dragonbreath. Daenerys wasn't too sure how accurate said book was but the same could be said for many of the stories about her family. She was alone, the last Targaryen in the world, and as such she would read and understand the books but also understand she had to forge her own path. To trust in her instincts just as when she lit the pyre in what seemed so long ago. Especially in regards to dragon keeping, a secret the Targaryens kept and seemed to pass along only by word of mouth due to the scant evidence left behind. There was some speculation, especially in regards to the Dragon Pit in Kings Landing and even the taming of the wild Sheepstealer but on the whole there was typically nothing regarding the bonding process.

It left Daenerys feeling somewhat unsure, especially since her child was not foolish. She already knew he was no horse and she wouldn't treat him as such. Their mental bond made that abundantly clear. Again, Daenerys wished there was another Targaryen, someone to discuss their blood and ancestral ties to dragons. Someone who could understand the link between them and who could share her burden.

So when she finally mustered up the courage to ask Ghidorah to ride him, four days after the defeat of Yunkai.

It was strange, directly asking him but it had become apparent Ghidorah could understand human speak even if he was unable to utter it. Usually when touching him it was if they were sharing stories, images and thoughts and feelings rather than words. It was disorientating at times, especially when she realized how shallow words were when it came to her mental connection to Ghidorah. So when she asked it was when she was once again reminiscing upon Aegon and his sister-wives, and about their dragons. She didn't know how Balerion truly looked but she pitched him as something massive and fierce, covered in spikes and horns and scales as black and shimmering like tar. And then Aegon, clad in splendid armour with silvery gold hair streaming behind him as he perched upon Balerion's spiked back. Ghidorah, as always, had been intrigued about the Targaryen dragons of old.

But when she finally managed to ask, to request that she take Aegon's place as Ghidorah would take Balerion's, her child took offence.

She'd been sitting among the cushions of her bed, books stacked around her feet with another open upon her lap. Ghidorah's heads had been resting upon the blanket around her, his bulky torso partially resting on the bed and his tails so long they stuck outside the tent itself. She'd felt the confusion and curiosity change to indignation. His horns flared out as he hissed simultaneously, heaving himself up from his sprawled position on the ground. There was a flurry of emotions but he pulled away so she was no longer touching the smooth scales of his neck, their connection broken as he rebuked her.

Nonetheless his offence was strong enough she flinched, nearly being knocked over by a wing as he twisted around and left her tent in a rip of fabric. Luckily enough the poles didn't collapse even if one nearly fell from his abrupt exit.

She fended off the concern of her guards at her dragon's abrupt exit and retired for the evening even if she barely slept. When Ghidorah still hadn't returned in the morning she was concerned, especially as she mounted her striped one as her army continued its march. Her bloodriders followed behind her and Daenerys was pleased that Rakharo's shoulder had fully healed, if not still scarred. Though that satisfaction was distant in her mind as, at the end of their daily march, Ghidorah still hadn't returned.

Ghidorah was prone to hunting his own meals so his disappearance wasn't brought up. Despite that Daenerys still felt unsure and almost ill- she hadn't the first idea how to start dragon riding so she worried she'd gone about it in the worst way possible. Perhaps she should've just tried hoisting herself up upon her back? No, she had a feeling that would've been even worse.

Despite his abrupt leaving she could still sense Ghidorah- a faint pressure at the back of her mind, giving her an idea of the direction he was in but nothing more. West, she'd thought. Towards the sea. 

She tried not to brood upon it even if her council her noticed her distraction and, as the days past, Ghidorah's absence. There would be nothing to be gained from discussing it, Ghidorah had wings and searching for him would be for naught- he would appear or not at all. Ghidorah stayed close to her typically so his continued disappearance began to be noted even if Daenerys refused to answer any inquiries.

Again, she lamented her lack of family, her lack of knowledge for her history. Did Aegon face such worry when choosing Balerion? Was it the dragon who chose their rider, not the other way around? Mutual agreement? She had no idea and it left her worried and frustrated, which she tried to drown out with devouring her lessons with Barristan and running through the logistics of her army.

Then at the end of the week Ghidorah returned, smelling of the sea and salt.

Daenerys couldn't hide her relief- even as she noted he'd gotten even larger in simple seven days apart -when she saw his form flying towards them during the evening, his leathery wing membranes translucent with the sun above. She'd demanded an early halt, only three hours before they'd usually stop for the night, but Daenerys deemed it an acceptable delay as she spurred her striped one out to the grassy plain Ghidorah landed in. She dismounted when the zorse got nervous even as Ghidorah folded his long wings to settle up onto his hind legs, tails sweeping aside a nearby shrub.

She nearly stumbled over her feet to reach him, running her fingers over the ridges and scales of his snout when he lowered his heads for her to reach. She felt the brief sensation of waves and water before his mind regarded her seriously. It was still odd to her, to feel his mind against hers. Magic, stretching back to Valyria where her people were dragon lords. But she felt his forgiveness and that was what mattered, even if she couldn't understand some of his emotions. He simply didn't think as a human, which somewhat left Daenerys confused with what he was trying to impress to her.

It also gave her the uncanny feeling that each of his heads thought differently from one another- greatly similar but different nonetheless.

But another overriding image pushed that aside, the same one she'd given him before he'd left. Of Balerion and Aegon and how the two became the figures behind the Targaryen dynasty of Westeros in the stories she had told him. The black dragon upon their flag so all could know of the Black Dread and the silver haired king upon a throne of swords from vanquished enemies of shadowed flame.

Along with his acceptance of it. Of the reverence.

Daenerys felt a thrill shoot up her spine when she realized what he was offering. It was strange almost, to think Ghidorah 'needed time to think' much like any person. His mind saw things differently than her own or how humans but Daenerys reminded herself that just as she was learning so was Ghidorah. And her patience was being rewarded, that her request was being rewarded.

So with Ghidorah's agreement she made plans for herself, waiting the following day to enact them even if she barely slept with her excitement.

It was why she chose practicality for her outfit, already knowing Ghidorah's scales were increasing in density like a crocodiles hide and with spikes littering his back. Her handmaidens made no comment as they knew there was long rides but this time it was for a different beast. As such it was early morning as she left her tent, Missandei walking by her side as Rakharo and Barristan followed up the rear. The army was preparing to go back to the march, having already spent two weeks slowly but steadily making their way towards the city of Meereen to the north, the largest city of the slaver cities. It take some more time to reach Meereen but that was one of the side effects of having such a large standing army upon foot. Her horses were still limited to her little calvary and the stock.

Ghidorah was waiting for her upon the nearby cliff, overlooking the river where her three ships were moored, settled on his haunches with his golden scales glittering in the rising sun. His left most head noticed her first and the other two perked up as well.

A group of two dozen Unsullied were spread in a circle before the cliff, preventing the freedmen from approaching the dragon and as she walked past her kos and Queensguard who stayed at the perimeter due to a wave of her hand. They knew not to approach her dragon but her soldiers had taken to their perimeter after prior incidents of bitten fingers and broken bones. 

Her army hadn't yet packed up the tents and gear and she knew it would most likely be an hour before so but she still felt nervous and unsure as she stepped next to her child.

Their connection deepened as she placed a hand upon Ghidorah's shoulder, the scales rough underneath her fingers. She leaned forward to press her forehead against his hide, feeling one of his muzzles brush against her hair as she tried to push through her appreciation and love to her child through what he was permitting her to do.

Then Ghidorah shifted, muscles making his scales ripple like coins as he settled down on his belly with his legs tucked against his sides like a cat. Even resting like that he was higher than her hip. Still, she was grateful it as she probably would've fallen off in front of everyone if she'd tried to climb up his tails. As it was she tried to ignore how the freedmen were quickly gathering around when they realized what she was intending; the circle of Unsullied deterred them from getting closer but she still felt nervous even if it was to be a monumental event. None in living had seen a dragon rider.

She figured falling off Ghidorah in front of everyone wouldn't be a good impression but she pushed that aside as she eyed Ghidorah's back uneasily. He was getting larger each day until it seemed like a lifetime ago when she could hold him in her hands. His back was lined with numerous black spikes the length of her finger, with the rows splitting into two as they converged down the back of his twin tails. His necks were as wide as the tuck of her waist with his back easily the width of five horse backs.

Off at the circle of Unsullied she heard Jorah's startled exclamation as her Queensguard realized what she was doing, realized her intent. Missandei looked shocked, golden eyes wide, while her khalasar hollered to their Khalessi.

Ignoring them with her expression determined, Daenerys placed both hands onto his shoulder in the gap between his neck and wing and hoisted herself up with a grunt. Then she crawled along scales until she could manoeuvrer around to be resting along the length of his bumpy back. She nearly slipped, even with Ghidorah's left most head nudging her along- his long necks were flexible enough he could easily twist upon them like a serpents.

On his back was three rows of spikes, the centre most being thicker and more dense that the other two bracketing it. She'd need to arrange herself carefully, feeling the spikes digging into her trousers until she managed to wedge a thigh between two of them to somewhat anchor herself in place. More spikes dug into her sides but she was small enough to not impale herself.

She settled on her elbows with her body lying upon his back, hands grasping the two spikes of his middle neck right before her. All three heads watched as Daenerys wrapped her hands around the spikes with her knuckles brushing against one another, fingers clenching as she tested her grip.

Through it all Daenerys made sure to push as much love and appreciation as she could through her bond with Ghidorah, at him permitting her to settle up on his back, at him permitting her to ride him.

Ghidorah arched his neck, rising up upon all fours while chatting out his warbling call. Daenerys could hear screams of excitement from those watching as Ghidorah turned to face the cliff, muscles rippling beneath golden scales as he gathered his strength. She clung to him like a bur, knuckles white against her skin and jaw clenched tight as euphoric elation roiled into her mind until she couldn't even think or breath.

Then he moved, great bulk surging as he charged forward before leaping off the cliff with her hanging tight upon the spikes of his back. 

For one horrifying minute they seemed to plummet towards the water and jagged rocks below before golden wings cracked like thunder and the scaled body beneath her surged upwards.

Her heart felt as if it were about to burst, the tiny silver bells singing in her hair as the wind whipped past while the grassy cliff and river below fell away beneath them.

 _Yes,_ Daenerys thought, a brilliant childish smile crossing her face as she began to laugh with abandon, _Yes, now, now, do it, do it, take me, take me, FLY!_

* * *


	9. Champion of Meereen

* * *

Daenerys and Ghidorah had flown together every day since he agreed to let her ride him and upon his back it was so easy to spy the surrounding land of the hills and plains and twist of the rivers that let out to the sea. When they soared through the clouds the army of Unsullied and freemen looked like ants trekking across the great land. Daenerys quickly learned she needed to wear clothing with the inners of lambs wool as it grew cold the higher they flew. The clouds also covered her in droplets, making her hair shine like silver and Ghidorah's scales sparkle like polished coins.

Their connection grew stronger until she could sense the thread of his emotions even without touching him, like a slither of foreign feelings and thoughts at the back of her mind. Sometimes, when she was riding with her troops upon her striped one, she'd get flashes of Ghidorah out hunting for fish or after the wild horse herds that populated the Dothraki sea. She knew it was important she was seen by her army and freemen, and Ghidorah did not tolerate anyone other than her touch so she took her flights with him usually in the early morning or towards night once they made camp.

When they flew too high the air would become thin and strangely dry, making Daenerys light headed enough Ghidorah would have to descend. He exhibited no discomfort to the thin air and she got the impression he'd flown even higher before without ill. She wondered if Ghidorah would be capable of flying among the stars, if that was why the star fell for him when he was born.

It also showed her the strange curve of the world upon the horizon, as if the entire land and oceans were upon a ball. Rhaenys, out of Aegon and Visenya, was said to ride her dragon more often than her siblings combined and wished to explore the world once their campaign was completed but a scorpion bolt through Meraxes' eye ended such a thought but Daenerys could see the splendid ideal behind such a goal. Much like when she dreamed of being a sailor, flying around the sphere of the world to seek out all the lands- from the Green Hell of Sothoryos with its brindled men and basilisks far to the south, the always winter tundra beyond the Wall of Westeros, the Grey Waste and Shadow Lands far to the east, and then the mysterious Ulthos that is beyond both Sothoryos and even the Shadow Lands. Even the ruins of Old Valyria, that lay just south-west of Slavers Bay and where many feared to tread since the Doom. To complete a map showing the world within its entirety.

It was a distant longing even if she could feel Ghidorah's own interest in exploring the far lands but as it was she always had to return to her army, even if they looked so tiny and insignificant when flying up so high.

 _Dragonrider_ was something which swept through her army, especially when she used Ghidorah to fly to the back of her host to dismount near the blacksmiths to check upon the arms and weapons being forged or repaired. She also gifted one of Ghidorah's spare teeth to the blacksmith who'd made the fang daggers and necklace for herself, a gift from the Mother of Dragons.

Even if that last title wasn't quite correct, Daenerys guessed it was an easier way to roll off the tongue.

But she knew that information would spread and a part of Daenerys wondered if it would reach all the way to Westeros. That if the lions, stags and direwolves circling the throne would shiver to know there was a dragon rider who sought to feed upon them. If they would try to slay her again, like the wine merchant or if they would hide in their dens waiting for Daenerys and Ghidorah to dig them out.

Her zorse was her steed to mingle, mostly due to Ghidorah's aggression and bulk. As they slowly but steadily approached Meereen she also asked Missandei of her knowledge, the former slave speaking of how she had visited the great city at the behest of her dead Master. One thousand slaves died to plant the bricks of the Great Pyramid and now an army of freed slaves were descending upon Meereen and the Great Masters of Slavers Bay. She would strip them bare, until their silks and jewels were torn asunder to reveal their rotten insides, be it by tooth and claw or sword and steel.

* * *

Daenerys eyed the walls of Meereen, which towered over everything as she and her army steadily marched towards the gates. High above in the distance she could see the glint of gold from the great harpy statue situated at the top of the Great Pyramid, over eight hundred feet above. Her striped one snorted, shaking her white and black mane as Daenerys urged the zorse along next to the column of marching Unsullied. 

The city was larger than Yunkai and Astapor combined, the great walls better maintained than Astapor and taller than Yunkai. Unlike the yellow and red bricks of the other slaver cities, the bricks which made up the great walls of Meereen were of all colours. This was the home of the Great Masters, with the harpy watching over them all.

“The harpy is a craven thing,” Daario had snorted when they crested the far hills to spy the glint of the golden statue within the distance. “She has a woman’s heart and a chicken’s legs. Small wonder her sons hide behind their walls.” 

Barristan and Jorah stayed close as they made their way to the plains before the great gate, a soft breeze stirring the bells in Daenerys' hair. The gates were flanked by two great harpies carved from stone, etched from the jutting rock landscape itself much like the walls. Above the gates and past the elaborate carvings where several outlooks where she could see the citizens of Meereen were beginning to flock even as her army moved into formation behind her. There were also bronze harpy heads scattered through the walls- a means to pour boiling pitch to any siege army below.

When they were just out of range of any long bows, Daenerys dismounted in a smooth movement with one of her khalasar tugging her zorse away once she was firmly upon the sun baked ground. She looked up at the gathering crowd upon the wall- even from a distance it was easy to pick out the slaves in their dull rags and large black collars compared with the vibrant robes of the nobles and masters.

Her Queensguard and council gathered behind her as Daenerys eyed the colourful brick walls critically.

“No weakness in the landward walls?” she said, “Does that mean we might attack from the river or the sea?” 

"We only have three ships, Khalessi," Jorah reminded her, "And we are without siege weaponry. The slavers saw to that when they burnt every tree within twenty leagues of here."

Daenerys scowled; they may have burnt the trees but the slavers still had the wood to crucify the 163 slave children to mark the miles to Meereen. It had been a direct insult to her, both as her age but also to her intent and her army of freed slaves. The children had already died by the time they reached them, most from dehydration and exposure but, as Daenerys insisted upon looking at them all when they were removed from their hitchings, some had been partially mauled by the wild animals. She did not know if those particular children had been dead before the scavengers came for them.

"You may not like my advice, Khalessi, but I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world. Your war is in Westeros." Jorah urged her.

She swore justice for those children and it was why she refused Jorah's advice without a second thought.

“I have not forgotten Westeros," Daenerys said, still remembering her dreams even as she continued with, “But if I let Meereen’s walls defeat me so easily how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros? Much less the Iron Throne?” 

“As Aegon did,” Jorah said, “Through fire and blood. By the time we reach the Seven Kingdoms your dragon will be grown. And we will have the needed siege towers and trebuchets as well, all the things we lack here… but the way across the Lands of the Long Summer is long and gruelling, and there are dangers we cannot know waiting for us. You stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.” 

"Defeated?" the words tasted foul in her mouth and she felt an answering thrum of anger from high above.

“When cowards hide behind great walls it is they who are defeated, Khaleesi,” Aggo said, giving the towering walls a sneering look.

Her other bloodriders concurred. “Blood of my blood,” said Rakharo, “When cowards hide and burn the food and fodder, great khals must seek for braver foes. This is known. There will be foes for you to spill their guts and singe their flesh other where, to bring you more bells for your hair.” 

“Not to me.” Daenerys considered Jorah's advice high among her council but to leave Meereen untouched was more than she could stomach. She could not forget the children on their posts, the birds tearing at their entrails, their skinny dead arms pointing up the coast road. Most had their very eyes plucked from their heads from the scavengers. Her tone was still cold as she asked, “Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west how can I feed my freedmen?”

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us. It is as it is.”

“No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” _My children._ “Not when they put their faith and lives in my hands. There must be some way into this city.” 

Then the groan of the great gates opening echoed through the air, putting an end to their talking.

"Are they attacking?" Daenerys asked, watching the gates intently. 

"A single rider," Jorah said, staying close by her side even as they watched a colourfully clad man appear forth upon the back of a white stallion, "A champion of Meereen. They want you to send your own champion up against him."

Hollering and cheers boomed forth from the crowd of spectators, Daenerys' own army remaining silent as the man galloped his stallion across the plain until his horse was prancing only feet from the Unsullied line. The man was colourful and brazen, his charger pawing at the ground. A great lance of fourteen feet was held in one hand as he spurred his stallion back and forth.

Her bloodriders were eager to accept the challenge upon behalf of their Khalessi to the point they nearly came to blows over their quarrel. Daenerys put a swift end to that; she was not about to risk her bloodriders, as they were in charge of her khalasar and small calvary, along with being her best scouts.

Jorah was hardly impressed as the champion began his yelling and mocking of them, "Let him prance back and forth and screech himself hoarse. He does us no harm."

Barristan disagreed, "Wars are not won with spears and swords alone, Your Grace. Two armies may be equal but one may break and flee whilst the other stands. This champion builds courage in the hearts of his own and plants the seeds of doubt within our own."

“And if our champion were to lose, what sort of seed would that plant?” 

"A man who lives in fear of loss wins no victories, ser," Barristan countered just as easily.

"Meereen will not open their gate if that fool falls," Jorah argued, "There is naught to risk."

"There is honour, i would say."

"I have heard enough," Daenerys' violet eyes flicked to the spectators, many of whom were screaming encouragements to the champion, and then up further o the blue sky above before she turned back to her Queensguard, "I have something to say to the people of Meereen. First, I will need this one to be quiet."

They could not wait beyond the plains for too long. When the Great Masters had withdrawn to their walls they had burned their crops and fields while poisoning their wells in their retreat. Less than a quarter of those in Daenerys' host was of soldiers and they had to take the city or starve. While the Unsullied may stand and die in such a way without protest she did not care for it and refused to let those who followed her suffer in such a way. Already her camp was being erected beyond the hills before Meereen in preparation for a siege but Daenerys knew they would only last two weeks at the absolute most before starvation set in. Much like when crossing the Red Waste, she must be strong for her people so they could draw their own strength from her.

“His name is Oznak zo Pahl,” Brown Ben Plumm remarked, from where he was standing next to Daario, "His uncle is of the Great Masters, one of the richest men in Meereen. If that means anything, Your Grace. He is of the master's stock."

Said man dismounted his white charger even as they watched, before urinating in her direction much to the hollered approval of the watchers.

"Shall I cut it off for you and stuff it in his mouth, Your Grace?" Daario offered, his teeth a flash among his blue beard as he spun a sword lazily in one hand.

"No," she said, scowling heavily. She couldn't linger much further or appear weak but she couldn't risk Daario either- he controlled the Stormcrows, many of whom had followed the slain captains. If he died there was a risk they would turn upon her and she could not have such discord in her army.

"Allow me this honour, Mother of Dragons," Grey Worm spoke to her in Valyrian, "I will not disappoint you."

Daenerys' voice was calm as she rebuked him, "You are the commander of the Unsullied. I cannot risk you."

"Send me, Your Grace," Barristan then offered, "I have won more single combats than any man alive."

"Which is why you must remain by my side," Daenerys said.

"Then send me," Jorah stepped forward, eyes earnest, "I've been by your side longer than any of them, Khaleesi. Let me stand for you today as well."

"You are my most trusted advisor, my most valued general, and my dearest friend," Daenerys said gently, "I will not gamble with your life."

Her gaze flitted over them in turn; Brown Ben Plumm and Strong Belwas were two she could risk, especially Strong Belwas as he was not a commander, did not lead troops or give her council. He was of her Queensguard but that was all he was. The pit fighter would be the best one to place her bet upon, and if he did fall in combat taking the life of a former slave would grant the champion no prestige. And if he won, then they would see the nephew of the richest Great Master in the city die to a former slave's blade. Even now Strong Belwas was in the middle of eating a sausage, seemingly oblivious to all else and a part of her was curious as to what kind of protector the hulking eunuch truly was.

But another idea settled within Daenerys mind, slithering around her mind like a snake. She felt an answering thrum of approval and so turned to her Queensguard to say, "And I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons. My child shall fight for me."

Missandei's face remained neutral as was Grey Worm's. The rest were not as composed. Strong Belwas, Daario, Brown Pen Plumm and her bloodriders looked curious and intrigued at her declaration, while Barristan and Jorah were far more skeptical.

"Khalessi, perhaps that is not-" Jorah began.

"I have made my choice," Daenerys said in a voice that brooked no argument. Across the plains the champion of Meereen had gotten back onto his charger, the horse snorting and the man still shouting out crude insults towards her.

Above, the dark shape that appeared to be little more than a bird to any unfamiliar abruptly folded its spiky wings and dived faster than any loosened arrow. The crowd, so fixated upon the prancing, mocking champion and Daenerys and her host, didn't notice the golden dragon until it was too late; cheers turned to screams even as Ghidorah flared out his wings in a great swoop but by then he was already upon the Meereenese champion like a hawk upon a rabbit.

The jaws of Ghidorah's left and right heads snapped shut on Oznak zo Pahl arms, the fangs sinking through armour deep into flesh. With a great flap of his wings, Ghidorah bore the screaming man aloft as the white horse ran until the dragon alighted upon the ground next to Daenerys. She moved out of the way to avoid being knocked over by his wings, the rest of her Queensguard scuttling backwards to avoid the golden dragon's tails as he landed in a gust of air and dust.

Ghidorah kept his wings partially flared out and Daenerys forward until she was slightly to his right side. Long fangs tightened, blood splattering onto the dry earth below even as Ghidorah's middle head reared back like a snake about to strike, teeth bared. She thought she could hear Daario laughing behind them but Daenerys ignored it, even as blood began to seep across the ground towards her feet. The man caught in Ghidorah's grip was shrieking and Daenerys both heard and saw his forearms splinter underneath her child's unyielding grip.

Lips curling Daenerys stood proud, violet eyes burning as she called, "Jelmazmar!"

Eyes flaring crimson, Ghidorah's middle head inhaled sharply before vomiting forth a great stream of lightning upon the man in his grip. The screams turned nothing as the champion's flesh was burned black in a nigh instant, colourful armour glowing red before his whole body seemed to burst into ash, leaving only his severed arms behind, still left in Ghidorah's other mouths. Now it was Daenerys' people screaming, even as Ghidorah snapped his jaw shut as Oznak zo Pahl was now ash and charred bits of armour and bone scattered across the ground before the golden dragon. His left and right head swallowed down the disembodied arms, long necks bobbing like birds swallowing worms.

And so was the end of the Meereenese champion.

 _Let them look upon the ash of their slain champion, killed by the dragons who have come for them,_ Daenerys thought viciously. Arrows landed harmless upon the baked earth several feet from Daenerys and her child, Ghidorah making a harsh, hacking noise at the action that could only be seen as mocking. 

She stepped forward, gently touching Ghidorah's shoulder and with an easy movement he shifted so his middle neck was resting upon the ground, the right arched up so she could duck underneath until she was straddling his neck, the backs of her thighs and shins resting against his scales. Already a single neck was nearly as wide as her zorse's back and she gripped the spikes at his neck as Ghidorah reared up upon his hind legs, great golden wings stretched out and blood dripping from his left and right head as he hissed.

Remembering her lessons with Ser Barristan, Daenerys pitched her voice to be heard to those watching her at Meereen's wall among the ramparts as she called out to them in High Valyrian.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn and this is my child, Ghidorah. Your Masters may have told you lies about me or they may have told you nothing! It does not matter. I have nothing to say to them. I speak only to you!"

From this distance she couldn't see the details of those watching her upon the wall but she could see the slaves in their drab clothing, weathered from the sun and elements unlike their sheltered and lavished masters. Her throat was beginning to ache but Daenerys ignored it to continue, "First, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor now stand behind me, free."

She gestured out with a hand towards the Unsullied, Ghidorah mimicking her movement with a great leathery wing as he let out a warbling screech to emphasise her words. The Unsullied beat their spears against their shields for a brief, rancorous moment before falling silent.

"Next, I went to Yunkai. Those who were slaves in Yunkai now stand behind me, free!"

This time her gesture was longer, to where the freemen were waiting upon the hills before Meereen and at her words shrieked and hollered even as Ghidorah called. His great spiked tails flicked back and forth, stirring up dust.

"Now I have come to Meereen," Daenerys shouted, looking back up at the silent masses watching her from the wall, "I am not your enemy. Your enemy is beside you! Your enemy steals and murders your children! Your enemy has nothing for you but chains and suffering and commands. I do not bring you commands! I bring you a choice. And I bring your enemies and masters what they deserve and that is fire and blood!"

This time, when the Meereenese archers loosened another volley of arrows at her and her child in a spiteful gesture, Ghidorah spat out a gout of lightning that destroy the projectiles mid-air much to the screaming approval of the freemen watching. Her violent eyes burned, matching Ghidorah's crimson stare as their glares raked across the masters watching them and even the slaves, who Daenerys noticed were now whispering among themselves. Some of the Great Masters had even left during her speech, scurrying back to their nests like vermin. She would dig them out yet.

At her mental request Ghidorah turned away, long tails sweeping through the ash pile that had been Oznak zo Pahl. The Unsullied formation parted like the sea as Ghidorah moved forward upon all fours until she could easily speak to her council and Queensguard without yelling; Daario still looked absolutely delighted by what he'd witnessed, as did her kos. Jorah was not as much.

“A victory without meaning,” Ser Jorah cautioned her, taking care to avoid getting within reach of Ghidorah even as her child started to lick the blood from his jaws with his fellow heads. “We will not win Meereen by killing its defenders one at a time.”

“No,” Daenerys agreed, still sitting easily upon Ghidorah's neck as her hands rubbed at his golden scales, “but I’m pleased we killed this one. Now, it is time we retired to my pavilion to draw forth our plans to make this city fall.”

* * *


	10. Fall of Meereen

* * *

"Missandei, have my zorse saddled. Your mount as well."

The golden eye scribe bowed, her bushy curls bouncing with the movement, “As Your Grace commands. Shall I summon your bloodriders to guard you?” 

"Ser Barristan shall accompany us. I do not mean to leave the camps."

Daenerys' pavilion had been set up besides the sea, between the Dothraki and Unsullied camps. Burnt olive trees were scattered around her pavilion, burnt husks swaying slightly in the salty breeze. The afternoon sun glinted off the golden harpy watching over them all from the top of the Great Pyramid and she felt a flurry of hatred for the masters hiding within the walls of the city.

As she, Missandei and Barristan began to make their way through the camp- Missandei seated upon the back of a strawberry mare and Barristan upon his grey gelding -as they passed the encampment of the Unsullied she could hear Grey Worm and the other sergeants running one of the company through a series of drills with sword and shield. Another section of the Unsullied were bathing in the sea; the eunuchs were very clean, Daenerys had noticed. Each evening after their march they'd bathed in the river they followed or in the shore. Some of the sellswords of Ben Plumm or Daario reeked as if they'd not bathed or changed clothes for months on end. If there had been no water then the Unsullied cleaned themselves down with sand, like the Dothraki.

The Unsullied knelt as she passed, calloused fists pressed against their chests to which Daenerys returned the gesture. South of the Unsullied and small Dothraki were the freemen which was much more chaotic. Children darted behind her striped one like birds, skipping and laughing in high voices. The freemen greeted her as 'mother' and asked for boons or favours. Other prayed for their Gods to bless her or asked her to bless them. Others called for her child, who hung high above in the sky, many voicing that he was a gift from the Gods themselves. Daenerys greeted them warmly, touching their hands with her own when they raised them, letting them touch her boots or shins as from their murmurs it seemed they saw good luck in her touch.

Daenerys had pulled her striped one to a halt in order to speak to a pregnant woman, who wished for the Mother of Dragons to name her unborn babe, when she felt a hand seize her wrist. Turning she saw a man with a sunburnt face and shaved head who'd seized her. She'd been about to say for him to not grip her so hard when he yanked hard and pulled her right from the saddle to send her painfully onto the ground which knocked the wind right from her lungs. Her zorse whinnied and backed away even as Daenerys went to push herself back up only to freeze when she spotted the sword only a few inches from her nose.

“There’s the treacherous sow,” the man sneered and Daenerys felt her heart jolt as she realized it was Mero, “I knew you’d come to get your feet kissed one day-"

Then Barristan was there, his sword flashing out in a blur of shining steel to snip off Mero's hand at the wrist before the man had even finished his gloat. The Titan's Bastard screamed and recoiled, blood pumping from the stump of his wrist as his severed hand fell to the ground, still gripping its sword. Daenerys, caught off guard by the sheer speed at which the old knight had moved, barely had time to blink before Barristan had her snatched up against his side to leap out of the way just as Ghidorah slammed down onto the ground with an ear splitting scream and a storm of dust and dirt with his great wings spread.

The freedmen scattered, even as Ghidorah's middle jaw snapped shut upon Mero's head to crush it like a grape even as his other heads began to rip the man limb from limb. The waves lapped at Ghidorah's clawed feet, the surf quickly washing away the gore and blood splattering the ground even as the freemen watched from the safety of the hilly dunes.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Barristan said even as he carefully set her back on her feet, "He should never have gotten close enough to seize you. I was lax. I did not know him without his beard and hair.”

Daenerys clutched at the aged knight's arm, even as Missandei gently pressed against her side, "No more than I did. Take me back to my tent.”

In a short while she was resting back at her pavilion, a lion's pelt draped over her shoulders and sipping from the goblet of wine Missandei had poured from her. Ghidorah had stomped along next to her while Barristan escorted her back and even now had his golden bulk curled around her tent, his middle head thrust through the back of the tent so his head was resting on the ground next to the pile of cushions she was nestled upon. His other two heads were keeping watch like sentries, both towards the sea and towards the walls of Meereen.

When she finished the wine, which helped soothe her trembling, she ended up using a damp rag to carefully clean the blood from around Ghidorah's snout with Missandei fetching the sea water in a small basin. Seated upon her cushions, the spiked crown of Ghidorah's skull nearly reached her shoulder even with his jaw resting upon the ground. Still, when she ran her hands over his scaly jaw she could feel the soft give of the leathery skin between his scales. Not yet fully formed, still vulnerable. She still remembered the Yunkai'i threat of filling Ghidorah with arrows. Perhaps not a scorpion bolt but with those soft slips of skin could be his undoing.

How long must a dragon age before its scales became harder than any steel before Valyrian? Daenerys did not know. She was alone with her knowledge and blood and had no wish to have Ghidorah suffer from her foolishness.

Even if she very much nearly had from her ignorance; so confident had she been in having no enemies among her children. She'd been so focused upon Meereen she'd forgotten the lesson of Qarth; that enemies lurked within those who offered smiles yet held a knife ready for her back. Many wished her dead but she'd known mostly the assassins of the usurper and traitorous cowards across the Narrow Sea rather than those within her host. She had been foolish to forgo the possibility her enemies would try to strike at her from within her own people, within the freemen. If not for Barristan's speed or Ghidorah's vigilance she could have been bleeding out within the surf of Slaver's Bay.

It was why she forgave Barristan, refusing the knight's apologies. It had been her own choice to walk among her people with only a single of her Queensguard and she nearly fallen due to her arrogance. The assumption that those who favoured the slavers would not try to strike her down. But at the same time she refused to be cowed, refused to hide behind the curtains of her pavilion. To do so would show such cowardly acts succeeded. Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys never shied from joining battle, never hid from the public despite knives in the dark and out of all the Targaryens they were the most well known. She would do the same.

_I am the blood of dragons and I do not hide from my enemies even if I keep my eyes upon the shadows._

It was why, when the assault of Meereen commenced a day hence, she'd heeded her council and stayed behind upon the back of her zorse. She had wanted to lead the assault herself but her captains were unanimous that such a thing was suicidal. So she agreed to their council and stayed, within view but not within harms reach with Ghidorah at her back and Barristan and Jorah by her side.

None had yet called her Daenerys the Conqueror but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons and his sister-wives but she had taken Meereen in less than a day with naught but the sewers and sea. The destruction of her ships provided the wood for siege weaponry and it had taken naught but a day before the repurposed masts of the ships to smash asunder the eastern gate to spill her people inside. Before the assault had begun, Grey Worm and some trusted others had slunk into the city within the bowels of filth, bearing gifts of weapons and freedom to the slaves inside.

And thus she heard the city fall from half a league away when the defenders’ shouts of defiance among the chorus of striking steel and screams changed to cries of fear. Ghidorah had rising up high, wings spread as he spat out gouts of lightning from all three heads as he understood what Daenerys knew. The slaves are rising, she knew at once. The gifts had been well received.

Once her Unsullied had finished their purge and the sacking had come to an end, she rode her striped one through the corpse-choked streets with Ghidorah gliding high above. She rode past burned buildings and broken windows, through brick streets where the gutters were choked with the stiff and swollen dead. Her zorse's shoes clipped along the blood stained tiles and filth filled her nose but Daenerys never let herself waver. Cheering slaves lifted bloodstained hands to her as she went by and as those of Yunkai they called her 'Mother.'

The Unsullied had gathered the Great Masters in the plaza before the Great Pyramid but they themselves were not so great, now stripped of their status and whips and jewels and tokars. Old men with spotted skin, young men with ridiculous hair styles, women round and portly compared to the thin frames of their watching former slaves. 

She had steered her zorse to the front of the steps of the Great Pyramid to dismount. There were many other pyramids in Meereen but none stood even half the height of the Great Pyramid and it was there she chose her punishment. Ghidorah had landed to her back with a great gust of air and chittering growls. His red eyes burned as he snapped his jaws, the Great Masters cowering from her child's malice. The barbed spikes of his tails flexed, one scraping gouges in the stone of the plaza.

Daenerys hated the masters so as they sobbed and begged for mercy. How dare they ask for such a thing, when they strung up children as markers and enslaved fellow people for coin.

So when one of the women begged to her, pleading to know how many Great Masters must be taken in order for the rest to be spared Daenerys already knew the answer.

"One hundred and sixty-three,” she answered, remembering the sun-baked corpses strung up along the dust road, "Give me one hundred and sixty-three of your leaders as penance and the rest shall be spared."

In the same fashion as the murdered children she had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each Great Master pointing at the next in a grand circle. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command to her soldiers. it made her feel like an avenging dragon, especially with Ghidorah at her back and great necks hanging above her as he hissed and snapped. Jorah and Barristan kept their opinions to themselves as she ordered the Masters punished, instead staying diligently by her side.

But later, after the siege camp was packed away and she passed the slavers dying on the posts to reach her new chambers at the apex of the Great Pyramid with Missandei by her side, when she heard their moans and smelled their voided bowels and blood-

 _It was just. It was,_ she thought, refusing to acknowledge their misery as she began to make her way up the step as her child's spiked shadow soared over head, _I did it for the children. The Great Masters now know the pain of those innocents they condemned to death simply to spite me. They cared not when children naught even reached their tenth nameday screamed when spikes were lodged in their limbs upon the crosses of the road to Meereen. The Masters cared not then. Let them know the agony before they are sent to whatever hell there is waiting for them._

High above Ghidorah had settled upon the top of the Great Pyramid, perched at the point where the golden harpy once stood.

* * *


	11. Queen

* * *

Daenerys licked at her fingers, still coated in the caramel seasoning of the honeyed nuts she'd just eaten. She was seated up within the terrace garden of the Great Pyramid, in the sun of the balcony overlooking the city. From that height she could see the whole city with its the narrow winding alleys and wide brick streets, the temples and granaries, hovels and palaces, brothels and baths, gardens and fountains, the great red circles of the fighting pits. And beyond the multi-coloured brick walls was the pewter sea, the winding Skahazadhan, the dry brown hills, burnt orchards, and blackened fields until they were lost to the horizon. 

Up in the lush garden overlooking everything Daenerys almost felt like a god. Lost in the highest mountain in the lonely garden. Ghidorah had claimed the peak of the Great Pyramid as his perch but now he was soaring over the newly named Dragon's Bay, golden scales sparkling even from such a distance.

Missandei had told her of Naath's god, the Lord of Harmony. Who created the moon and stars and all the creatures that dwelled within the world. Who created the butterflies to guard the people of Naath, their poison making any would-be conqueror sicken and die while the natives walked free. It seemed a lonely story to Daenerys; with Westeros there were seven gods though Viserys had once said to her that some septons believed the seven to simply be seven aspects of a singular being, like the facets of a jewel. Then there was the red priests, who believed in the fire god who was locked on constant combat against the Great Other, the two gods of the faith of Essos. Daenerys disliked that one, as the idea of being in constant war was exhausting.

And thinking of the fiery god made her think of the odd maegi Quaithe and her warning of R'hllor and those who worshipped Him. The idea she may be under a gods gaze, of any god but especially one with less than pleasant intentions, made her uneasy.

Her brooding was interrupted by Missandei's soft footsteps as the handmaiden served her duck eggs and dog sausage, with half a cup of sweetened wine mixed with the juice of a fresh lime. Flies bothered her but a scented candle drove most of them back. There were a lot less so high within the Great Pyramid.

"I must do something about the flies," Daenerys mused, "Are there many flies at Naath?"

"On Naath there are butterflies,” the scribe responded in the Common Tongue. “More wine?” 

Daenerys thought a moment before shaking her head, the four bells chiming in her hair, "No, I will hold council soon and must be clear headed. Of Naath, do you wish to return Missandei?"

“This one is content to stay with you, Your Grace. Naath will be there, always. You are good to this- to me.”

“And you to me.” Daenerys said, taking Missandei gently by the hand as she rose, “Come help me dress.”

Today she wore a flowing white dress made from a fine fabric that seemed to shimmer when she moved, with a crimson sash across the front to be tied at one side of her hip and then around her waist. For her head was a golden crown, made from a hacked off piece of the golden harpy which had once stood upon the top of the Great Pyramid and forged into the likeness of three dragon heads. Tiny rubies were inlaid as eyes for the crown. However when Missandei showed her a mirror Daenerys was still unsure; to her she still looked like a young woman, barely more than a girl, much less a conqueror or a queen.

Daenerys pushed that aside, straightening her back as she made her way down a level to her audience chamber. It was a large, echoing room that had a throne in the form of a harpy which she'd ordered destroyed for the wood. A simple bench of polish ebony was her current throne and was cold against her backside and legs as she settled down upon it with her council and Queensguard gathered. Occasionally she caught a brief flash of sensation from her child, a distant feeling of wind flowing over wings or fish squirming within a fanged mouth.

Her bloodriders were waiting for her with silver bells tinkled in their oiled braids, and they wore the gold and jewels and exotic pelts of dead men. Meereen had been rich beyond imagining so even her sellswords were sated. At least for now. Across the room Grey Worm wore the plain blackened leather uniform of the Unsullied, his spiked cap tucked beneath one arm. Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, then Daario beside him all glittering in gold with his brightly dyed beard and hair. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Jorah and Barristan.

Most of the Unsullied were occupied with enforcing peace or removing the dead which littered the streets. 'Dead men's revenge' Daario had referred to the swarms of flies at their last council meeting once peace began to settle. Meereen had been sacked savagely, as new-fallen cities always were, but Daenerys was determined that should end now that the city was hers which meant the people were as well. She had decreed that murderers were to be hanged, that looters were to lose a hand, and rapists their manhood. Eight killers swung from the walls while the Unsullied had filled a bushel basket with bloody hands and severed cocks, but Meereen was calm again. But it would take time, Daenerys knew.

“How many seek audience this morning?” she asked.

Daario answered her, "Two have presented themselves to bask in your radiance. Upon a trading ship called Indigo Star, which came from Qarth."

She scowled. Trade was typically talk for slavers.

“The Star’s master and one who claims to speak for Astapor.”

“Send the envoy first.”

Said envoy was a scrawny man with a nervous air, pale faced with necklaces of pearls and spun golden silks hanging from his neck. She watched him grovel and praise her from her perch upon the ebony stool even as the man, Ghael, informed her of the Astapor revolt where her original council had been killed by a butcher called Cleon who now ruled the city as its king much to her dissatisfaction despite Ghael's attempts at reassurance.

“Your Worship, those snakes betrayed your trust," Ghael insisted, "It was revealed that they were scheming to restore the Good Masters to power and to return the freed people to chains. Great Cleon exposed their nefarious plots and hacked their heads off with a cleaver and the grateful folk of Astapor have crowned him as king for his valour.” 

Missandei, standing close to her side, whispered in Daenerys' ear, "He was a butcher in Master Grazdan mo Ullhor's kitchen and was said to be able to slaughter a pig faster than any man in Astapor.”

Daenerys shifted uneasily in her silks before reminding herself that just because Cleon came from humble beginnings it did not mean ill for Astapor, especially if her original council did indeed turn upon the freemen who stayed behind. So instead she said, "I will pray that King Cleon rules well and wisely. Has he sent you as a greeting?"

Ghael hesitated, darting a glance at her Queensguard arranged before her throne and then the Unsullied guards standing at the sides of the room, before saying, "Perhaps a more private audience, Your Radiance?"

“I have no secrets from my captains and commanders.” Daenerys replied.

"As you wish. Great Cleon bids me declare his devotion to the Mother of Dragons," Ghael pressed a thin hand against his breast, "Your enemies are his enemies, he says, and chief among them are the Wise Masters of Yunkai who are rising up to fight against you. He proposes a pact between Astapor and Meereen, against the Yunkai’i.”

"I swore no harm would come to Yunkai if they freed their slaves."

“Those Yunkish dogs cannot be trusted, Your Radiance," Ghael insisted, "Even now they plot against you, as they established their masters and those back in chains naught but days after you left. New levies have been raised and can be seen drilling outside the city walls, warships and siege weaponry are being built, envoys have been sent to New Ghis and Volantis in the west, to make alliances and hire sellswords. They have even dispatched riders to Vaes Dothrak to bring a khalasar and the horse lords down upon you. Great Cleon bid me tell you not to be afraid. Astapor remembers. Astapor will not forsake you, silver queen. To prove his faith Great Cleon offers to seal your alliance with a marriage.” 

"Marriage? To me?" 

Ghael smiled and she fought the urge to grimace as the man said, “Great Cleon will give you many strong sons.” 

_I already have the strongest son anyone could hope to have,_ Daenerys thought angrily but Missandei came to her aid before she could utter a word.

"Pray tell, honoured guest, did Cleon's first wife give him many sons?" the golden eyed scribe asked.

The envoy flashed her a sour look. “Great Cleon has three daughters by his first wife with two of his newer wives being with child. But he means to put all of them aside if the Mother of Dragons will consent to wed him.”

"How very noble of him," Daenerys said bitingly, "I will consider what you said."

With that she dismissed Ghael, sending him to one of the quarters below in the Great Pyramid before she brooded upon the problem. If Yunkai was rising up in rebellion then she could not simply move on from Meereen as no doubt the freemen would want to follow her to avoid being enslaved the moment she left the city with her army. Even if she emptied every granary in Meereen she couldn't feed such a host all the way to Westeros, it was why she had to win Meereen so swiftly. 

The way before her was fraught with hardship, bloodshed, and danger. Ser Jorah had warned her of that. While the slavers needed to be punished she'd forgotten she simply couldn't expect everyone to obey her orders. She'd left Yunkai mostly untouched because she'd made the momentous mistake of believing the Masters would keep their word and now look at what had happened.

When she sent for the captain it was with the hope he would bring better news but it was much the same. The sons of the highborns had been seized by Cleon to be the new Unsullied, with each pyramid a training camp and markets bare of food. The captain was also Qartheen, which added the revelation most thought she'd killed the Thirteen herself.

 _If I could truly throttle thirteen grown men with my bare hands in such a quick manner I would be without any enemies,_ Daenerys thought to herself. She briefly felt a flash of feelings from her child, the odd sensation of salt water sliding over wings before she was back to sitting upon the cold ebony bench. When she dismissed the captain she was still in a surly mood.

One of the following orders she made was to begin replanting the burnt crops the masters had seared in their retreat and find those among the freemen who could count and write for her to tally the treasury. She'd already ordered a score of dedicated Unsullied to guard the vaults to deter thieves. If the city grew low upon food, especially with her host swelling the numbers, chaos would reign in the streets. Live stock were more easily replenished but people could not just survive on meat without falling ill.

It was nearing the afternoon when she retired for the evening. She had barely strayed from the audience room either way, mostly pouring over the mind numbing logistics of feeding everyone before hunger set in. Daario's recounts of people eating others flesh didn't exactly help even if Daario did just seem to be trying to warn her of what could happen if the food ran out. Same with Jorah's advice. Only once did the idea of her actually entertaining Cleon's marriage pact come about and Daenerys angrily confronted it.

"I was already sold in marriage once," Daenerys snapped, "I will never do so again."

There was a fairly long silence after that and Daenerys dismissed herself by sweeping out of the room in a swirl of fabrics. It was fairly immature for her to stomp off but the idea of being forced into marriage ever again was more than she could stand. She ended back in the garden terrace, surrounded by the lush green and colourful flora with their sweet scents.

* * *

The following days were just as exhausting.

It came with the revelation the masters where fighting her from the shadows now, after she was given a report of one of the Unsullied soldiers with his throat slit ear to ear. Found in an alley with a bloodied harpy drawn upon the bricks above his corpse. Daenerys had been less than pleased at finding about the knives in the dark now awaiting her.

'Sons of the Harpy', they called themselves. Until the soldier they had targeted the freedmen, killing them in the streets or murdering them in their beds in the dead of night. Now they'd grown bold enough to target the Unsullied.

 _I am still at war,_ Daenerys scowled, _only now I am fighting shadows._

She had hoped for a respite from the killing, for some time to build and heal. But as Barristan said this would not be the first of her soldiers to die to the harpy's claws. She gave the order to Grey Worm that none of her soldiers would walk alone now, even off duty. Instead they must remain vigilant, to root out the infestation and to guard their backs. Barristan also helped her in that aspect, pointing out the Unsullied were soldiers. They were built, trained, grown, to fight in wars and to slough through the battlefield. Not to unravel secrets. Same for her Dothraki, even if she was currently without her tiny host after sending her bloodriders and little calvary beyond Meereen's walls to oversee the replanting of the crops and subduing of any potential rebellion in the countryside.

So she turned to Daario and Ben Plumm. They knew men, were mercenaries for years, so she ordered them to the streets with the Stormcrows and Second Sons. To seek out the harpy's followers like one would dig rabbits from a burrow. Daario especially had been pleased with such a request and took to the job with gusto while Ben Plumm was more reserved. And afterwards she granted Barristan's request to start training squires; with the raising threat of assassins she could do with a swell of her Queensguard numbers.

Which left her with Jorah and Strong Belwas by her side, Missandei also keeping apace, as she went to the audience chamber to answer a summons request from two citizens of Meereen.

Skahaz mo Kandaq, who'd shaven his head bare to show his acceptance of Daenerys' rule when most men of Meereen teased their hair into spikes and curls in long tradition of the Slaver Cities. The Shavepate, he became known as, as was his family who followed suit and considered the vilest of traitors to the Sons of the Harpy. And then there was Reznak mo Reznak, small and damp who reeked as if he bathed in a pool of perfume each morning. Both eager to speak, even if it was over one another.

Skahaz wasted no time in informing her of how she should respond to the murder of her soldier, the news having already travelled swiftly through the city. He also was quick to point fingers as to who could have done the deed.

"Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old slaving families who dwell within the lesser pyramids. Pahl. Pahl most of all when your dragon killed the champion, who was of that blood, before the walls. Three uncles of that house were also strung up upon the standards in the plaza and another son upon the walls of the city and now that house is filled with old spiteful women. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive.”

 _No, we don't,_ Daenerys agreed. When she reached Westeros those who supported the Usurper would know such a thing to be true. 

Shaking those black thoughts off, she asked Skahaz, "How much do we offer for information on the Sons of the Harpy?"

"One hundred honours, Your Radiance."

"Make it one thousand," she ordered.

The light glinted off Skahaz's smooth skull as he bowed, "As you demand. And if I might be so bold...In return for the murder of your soldier, I suggest you take a son from each of the ancient families I named. Execute them for all to see. Next time a soldier of yours dies, take two sons and execute them for all to see. There will not be a third murder, Your Radiance."

Reznak, who up until this point had kept his council to himself, quickly intervened with all but a shriek, "No, gentle queen! Such savage retribution will bring down the wrath of the gods. We shall find these murderers and they will all be baseborn filth, you'll see."

Skahaz scoffed in response which sent the two men squabbling until Daenerys sent them away. The flowery stench of Reznak was more than she could stand.

She'd barely been alone a moment before another messenger came to her, bearing the request from yet another who sought her council.

"Send them in," Daenerys said with a sigh. Her back was already beginning to ache.

* * *

"The noble lord Hizdahr zo Loraq begs an audience with the queen."

Daenerys violet stare was flat as she glared at the speaker, "The noble lord Hizdahr zo Loraq can speak to me himself."

Her irritation was well noted, as the speaker quickly bowed and shuffled back to the entry of the audience chambers even as Hizdahr approached her. He was of copper skin and blue silks, with dark curled hair that glistened with oil and a neck which dripped gold. He reached the small rise at the foot of stairs, bending at the waist in a bow to her. Loraq, which meant he belonged to one of the oldest, richest families of Meereen that Skahaz had mentioned previously.

"Queen Daenerys," Hizdahr spoke to her in the Common tongue, "Tales of your beauty were not exaggerated."

She continued to stare without comment; quite frankly she was sick of the endless parade of comments about her appearance. 

Hizdahr, noticing his words were not well received, forged forth with his reason for being there, "Mine is one of the oldest and proudest families in Meereen. My father, one of Meereen's most respected and beloved citizens, oversaw the restoration and maintenance of its greatest landmarks. This pyramid included."

"For that he has my gratitude," she finally said without any malice, "The Great Pyramid is beautiful. I would be honoured to meet your father."

His expression hardened, "You have, Your Radiance. When you crucified him. I pray you'll never live to see a member of your family treated so cruelly."

Daenerys straightened up, her hands gripping each other tightly, "So your father is one of the men who crucified innocent children?"

"My father spoke out against crucifying those children. He decried it as a criminal act but was overruled," Hizdahr argued, "Is it justice to answer one crime with another?"

"So is that what your father did?" Daenerys all but snarled at him, violet eyes flashing dangerously, "He simply spoke out? Harshly lectured his fellows and then went home to feast after seeing the children dragged from Meereen to be struck up as markers? You expect me to praise his empty words? And further more my own actions against the Masters was no crime. You will be _wise_ to remember that."

Hizdahr looked as if he'd argue further but then he looked around the audience chamber and, after a moment, inclined his head. When he spoke his words had lost their stern, cold tone, as he said, "What done is done, Your Radiance. You are the queen and I am a servant of Meereen. A servant who does not wish to see its traditions eradicated."

Daenerys continued to watch him coldly, "And what traditions is that?"

"The tradition of burial rites. Proper burial in the Temple of the Graces. My father and noble Meereenese are still nailed to those posts, carrion for vultures, rotting in the sun. Your Grace, I ask that you order these men taken down so that they might receive a proper burial."

"And what of the slave children?" she demanded, "What of their proper burial? If not for my orders they would have been left there as carrion."

She could still see the rotted bodies, the eyeless skulls and torn skin. How small they'd been when her soldiers had pulled them down.

Hizdahr did not attempt to rebuke her, instead saying, "Your Radiance, I cannot defend the actions of the masters. I can only speak to you as a son who loved his father," his voice grew slightly pleading as he continued, "Let me take his body down. Let me have him brought to the temple and buried with dignity so that he may find peace in the next world."

The silence grew longer as she thought it over. She remembered Missandei saying previously that the Meereenese did indeed bury their dead, their bones. The Great Masters she had crucified had already died, Daenerys knew. She had left them there as scarecrows in a field, to warn any slavers who might feel to take back their ways.

Though the Sons of the Harpy showed it wasn't working, not effectively anyway. The plaza was also thick with flies.

"Very well," Daenerys finally said, "Bury your father, Hizdahr zo Loraq. Same for the other Great Masters left upon the stakes."

He bowed, his golden necklaces shimmering in the light as he did so, "Thank you, Your Radiance."

She tried not to sag in the cushions as Hizdahr took his leave. Daenerys spent more hours upon her ebony stool, even if it had been softened with the cushions Barristan had fetched for her, answering the requests of her citizens. Most were from the Great Masters, determined to wring whatever gold they could from her after she refused to compensate them for the slaves she freed.

One of the first to come to her that morn had been from a Great Master, Grazdan, complaining about a score of women slaves. According to him they'd learned the trade of weaving by his most skilled slave, an elderly woman who's spun fabrics were well sought after even in the likes of Westeros. When she grew so aged he'd brought in young women known for their dexterous fingers to learn her craft. When Daenerys took Meereen and freed the slaves, the women had banded together to open a store along the port to sell their fabrics. Grazdan had demanded to take half of their profits, insisting that he deserved it. 

“They owe their skill to me,” he had said to her. “I plucked them from the auction block and gave them to the loom.”

"What was the name of woman who taught them?" she asked and after some fumbling it was obvious the man did not know, citing having owned too many slaves.

So she refused.

"The woman weaver taught them their skills, you did not sit upon the loom and show them how to spin fibres. This is my ruling. From the girls you shall have nothing. It was the woman who taught them weaving, not you. From you the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman.” 

Another was rich noble woman who, when she fled to her brother's when the siege occurred, returned to her house only to find it had been turned into a brothel with her clothes and jewels bedecking the whores. Daenerys permitted the woman her jewels but told her the house had been forfeit when the woman abandoned it.

Another was a young boy, even younger than Daenerys, wearing a silver tokar and a cracking voice as he spoke of how his household's slaves rose up during the siege. His father and elder brother slain, his mother raped before having her throat cut. The boy now had a ruddy scar upon his face but had fled with his life. One of the killer remained in his father's house while the other had joined Daenerys' army, the Mother's Men, and the boy wished to see them both hanged.

 _I am queen over a city built on dust and death,_ Daenerys had thought, exhausted, before she denied the boy his request. Previously she had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. And neither would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters. So nothing must be done.

The boy had been enraged by her decision and had tried to rush her but Strong Belwas had seized him by the arm and slammed him upon the stone steps with an ugly noise.

“Enough, Belwas,” Daenerys said after hulking eunuch shook the boy violently like a dog with a rat. “Release him.” To the boy she spoke, “You are only a boy so we will forget what happened here. You should do the same.” 

But as he left the boy looked back over his bruised shoulder, and when she saw his eyes Daenerys knew the Harpy had gained another son.

However Daenerys had her own son and she had only gotten through three more audiences before they were interrupted by one of the guards. When she hurried down to the plaza the stone had fresh blood splatters sprayed across and from what her Unsullied guarding the plaza told her the boy in the silver tokar and who's request she refused had left the Great Pyramid but had barely crossed the plaza before the golden dragon had been upon him. Taken up into the sky after having his bones broken under Ghidorah's jaws.

She'd dismissed all further audiences for the day and retreated back to her rooms at the top of the Great Pyramid.

Ghidorah showed no remorse when he arrived upon the top, despite her attempts to scold him from the balcony. His perspective was far more black and white than her own; she viewed the boy as a threat so Ghidorah had dealt with it appropriately. Much like he'd done with Mero upon the beach but this time he didn't not wait for the boy to strike. She attempted to reach out to him that she can't kill someone for something they _may_ do unless she knew they would truly do so. Ghidorah did not care. All he knew was that his mother was wary and he reacted appropriately to the threat.

She'd gotten flashes of Ghidorah's day while sitting upon that ebony stool but she hadn't thought to think Ghidorah would also see flashes of her day. Of when that boy had tried to attack her in the audience chamber before Strong Belwas stopped him. She would have been entirely within her right to have the pit fighter strike off the boy's head for trying to harm her. And neither would he nor Barristan nor Missandei would have faulted her. Her child had seen that, the way the boy had lunged for her. And because of that her child regarded the boy's life as forfeit and nothing she would say would convince him otherwise.

Daenerys should know better than try to hold a dragon to standards of humans. He did not reason with a harpy, he would not sit down for a calm, rational discussion. Instead he would rip her feathered wings from her shoulders and glut upon her innards.

Viserys had told her all the tales of the Targaryens when she was little. She knew how Harrenhal had fallen, burning alive all those who had hidden within. She knew about the Field of Fire and the Dance of the Dragons. One of her ancestors, the third Aegon, had seen his own mother devoured by his uncle’s dragon and been greatly frightened as a result, with many blaming him for the Last Dragon dying under his rule and being known as the Dragonbane. And there were songs beyond count of villages and kingdoms across the world that lived in dread of dragons till some brave dragonslayer rescued them, of the wild dragons that attacked everyone and everything with Dragonstone itself having a dragon simply known as the 'cannibal' who feasted upon his own. They could never be tamed.

Still, she did not need her child supping so blatantly upon the citizens of Meereen. He typically favoured a variety of meats even if he disliked sheep- she'd spent enough time picking slimy, wet wool from his teeth to know that -but his action had been against a slight, rather than food even if Daenerys knew the boy's remains were in the golden dragon's stomach. That the jaw she stroked had crushed his bones like dry tree branches. There was no remorse through their link, the boy had tried to harm his mother and Ghidorah had punished him accordingly before he could try again.

Had she not sworn the same thing? To kill every one of the Harpy's sons until Meereen was free of their plotting and schemes and daggers in the dark before things got even worse?

She was the blood of the dragon and he was her child. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. Burn the entire family from existence. Yet a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman’s pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon besides another dragon? Dragons plant no trees.

But she could guard them. That a dragon could do. Could eat the wolves to keep the sheep safe. To burn the bears to protect the trout. To guard the forest from axes until the trees flourished.

Decided, Daenerys dropped her hand from her child's snout even as he straightened back up upon his customary perch of where the great golden harpy had stood. She could not publicly decry his actions without slighting herself and while she mourned the death of the boy, traumatized by the murders of his family, she must not look back. For if she did she would be lost.

She went back into her chambers before summoning Missandei to bring her council forth. She'd made her decision.

* * *

“Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on. It may work for a horde but not for a city.”

Brown Ben Plumm's voice was calm, "There is nothing to stay for, Your Grace. The Iron Throne awaits you. Even digging the rats out of the walls their nests run deep here."

Daario added, "The Masters brought the misery upon themselves, let them wallow within it."

"You have also brought so many their freedom, Your Grace," Missandei also said. 

“Freedom to starve?” asked Daenerys sharply, “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon or a harpy?” 

“A dragon,” Barristan said with complete certainty, “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

"There is also other news," Jorah interrupted, almost haltingly, before forging on with, "Joffrey Baratheron is dead. Poisoned at his own wedding."

Daenerys turned sharply, "Why was I not informed of this immediately?"

"I wished to verify it, Khalessi," Jorah explained, "News travels slow from across the Narrow Sea and rumours are aplenty. This message, I wished to be absolutely sure before bringing it to you and was only verified this morning. He is dead and was done so at his own wedding- the Lannisters have many enemies."

"We have the Meereenese navy," Daenerys said slowly, even if her stomach shifted in excitement, "How many people can they carry?"

This time Barristan answered, "Ninety three hundred, not counting sailors."

"Would that be enough to take Kings Landing?"

"The Lannisters have more," Jorah warned her.

"They've been fighting Joffrey's wars for years," Barristan countered, "They're tired. Dispersed. And now their king is dead. Eight thousand Unsullied. Two thousand Stormcrows and Second Sons. Sailing into Blackwater bay and storming the gates without warning. And you, Your Grace, arriving upon the back of your dragon."

"...It's hard to say," Jorah allowed, "But we are not seeking to conquer the Seven Kingdoms, you cannot hold them all with those numbers."

"The old Houses will flock to our queen."

"They'll flock to whatever side they think will win, as they always have. But...we have also verified Ghael's claims of Yunkai taking up arms against you. Yunkish envoys have been sent to Myr and Volantis to hire more blades from the Company of the Cat, the Long Lances, and the Windblown. It is even said they have purchased the Golden Company for their campaign against you."

 _With the gold I foolishly left to them,_ Daenerys thought bitterly. She'd naively believed it would be used to help forge a new path for the freemen left behind but instead it was just awaiting the Masters to slither back into control. She should've executed them all.

She knew of the Golden Company, well known for being a properly trained and armoured host of sellswords who did not break their contracts. She also remembered when Viserys had once invited the captains to feast in hopes they would take up his cause, they'd been founded by a Targaryen seed after all. They ate his food and heard his pleas and laughed at him before leaving. Daenerys had only been a little girl, but she still remembered.

Even now she could hear Viserys' voice whispering in her mind, that Meereen was never her city. That her city, her country and her enemies awaited her across the sea. That she was born to serve them fire and blood.

Jorah, ignorant to her mental thoughts, continued with, "Tolos and Mantarys have agreed to an alliance to the Yunkai'i as well. When they march they will not march alone."

"So take all the gold and food from this wretched city and march west," Daario urged her, "Let the rest squabble over the scraps and starve. Your eunuchs are renowned soldiers but they'll still be completely outmatched if Yunkai marches with such a number."

"I spared Yunkai before but I will not make that mistake again," Daenerys said, "If they should dare attack me, I shall raze their Yellow City to the ground. They learned nothing from my mercy."

Ben Plumm spoke this time, "Your Grace, you are still greatly outnumbered and Meereen would not survive a prolonged siege. The Yunkai'i underestimated you last time and that was something they learned. They will not make that mistake again."

"And I know of the Field of Fire," Daenerys countered, violet eyes burning, "It was said to be the greatest army Westeros had ever seen, at least fifty five thousand men. All trained, all armed, all armoured. The Targaryens had less than half of that but when Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya took to their dragon's back the mightiest army Westeros had seen died in the flames and those who did not were burned so badly they could no longer fight. It was the only time that Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion were all unleashed at once during the conquest of my ancestors. It meant the end of the King of the Rock as Loren Lannister bent the knee after seeing his army burn. I have Ghidorah. I have the last dragon. I have the only dragon who'd ever been born with three heads who breathes storm, not fire. And Yunkai'i shall know our wrath if they are so foolish to march upon me."

"I believe the masters don't fear your dragon as they should, Your Grace," Ben Plumm said carefully, "You have not used him for war, only for executions. They'd grown lax with the Doom of Valyria and the death of dragons centuries past."

Which was true. She had not wanted to risk Ghidorah in open battle for fear of him being injured or killed. She had wanted to wait until he was larger, until there was no pebbly skin whatsoever but instead all golden scales as hard as diamond. She did not want to risk her child which was why she hadn't used him in the siege of Meereen. And it seemed as if the masters had noticed.

“How can I rule the Seven Kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” Daenerys said instead, lips curled into a snarl.

She turned away, looking out over the city, “My children need time to heal and learn. Ghidorah will need time to test his wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor and I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again. Why should anyone trust me, why should anyone follow me, if I cannot even control Meereen? Why would any look to me as a ruler if I flee from Yunkai's threat? I will not let those I've freed slide back into chains.” She turned back to look at their faces, her bells singing in her hair, “It grieves me to say but Westeros must wait. I will not set sail.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Jorah.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

* * *


	12. Stormchasers

* * *

"Your servants were set upon as they walked the bricks of Meereen to keep Your Grace's peace. All were well armed, with spears and shields and short swords. All were well armoured. Two by two they walked as you commanded, and two by two they died. Your servants Black Fist and Cetherys were slain by crossbow bolts in Mazdhan's Maze. Your servants Mossador and Duran were crushed by falling stones beneath the river wall during their morning patrol. Your servants Eladon Goldenhair and Loyal Spear were poisoned at a wine shop where they were accustomed to stop each night upon their rounds."

Grey Worm's report was delivered without emotion but Daenerys had enough fury for both of them.

Her voice was deathly calm as she asked, "Have any of the murderers been caught?"

Daario answered her, "We've got the owner of the wine shop and his two daughters. They claim innocence."

Skahaz, who he and Reznak had been added to her council to add a Meereenese presence, spoke, "Give them to me, Your Radiance. I shall wring out whatever answers they hide. They all claim innocence, I will strip them bare to see if it is indeed truth."

Daenerys thought about that for naught but a moment before she said, "Very well. Question them gently at first, separately, then press harder if you must."

He bowed to her, the sunlight streaming through the windows gleaming off his bald skull, "As you command."

"Who else has been slain?"

"Three freemen, Your Radiance," Skahaz said, "There was a money lender, a cobbler and a harpist named Rylona Rhee. For the harpist they cut off her fingers as well, before killing her."

Daenerys twitched, eyes darkening. Rylona Rhee had been from Yunkai, had followed Daenerys along Essos and the hard march all the way to Meereen. Sometimes when they'd set up camp Daenerys could hear the delicate music of the harp echoing through the tents and over the clang of training and blacksmithing. In Meereen the woman had been a vocal supporter for Daenerys for the locals and a prominent voice in the host of freemen.

And now she was dead, slain by the agents of the Great Masters.

"Have we any captives for these murders?"

"None, Your Radiance."

"Very well. Skahaz, question the wine seller sharply," Daenerys snapped, her blood burning.

"As you command. If I might be so bold...I could question his daughters sharply, while he watches. It will quicken the wringing."

"Do it," she ordered. She thought for a moment before addressing Grey Worm, "Pull your soldiers back to the barracks, I will have no more Unsullied deaths. They will guard the gates, the walls, and this pyramid and that is it. The Meereenese will keep the peace in Meereen from now on."

Grey Worm nodded, knocking a fist against his armoured chest as she turned back to Skahaz, "You shall make up a new watch to patrol the city, Skahaz. Made up of shavepates and freemen in equal parts to keep an eye upon the Harpy."

"As you command. How many shall be this group, Your Radiance?"

"As many as you require."

Reznak protested at that, "Gentle queen, where is this coin for such a thing to come from? They will demand wages to be a city watch-"

"Do not call me that," Daenerys snapped, making Reznak cower as if he thought she was to leap over the table at him, "The Harpy's Sons think I am weak and gentle and feeble. My more than generous mercy is at an end. The wages for the city patrol shall come from the pyramids of the ancient Meereenese families as a blood tax. I will also take one hundred pieces of gold from each for every soldier and freeman killed within these walls from now on."

"It will be done," Skahaz said, a fairly vicious smile crossing his face before he said, "Though Your Radiance must know two of the oldest families, the Zhak and Merreq, are seeking to leave Meereen."

"They may leave," Daenerys said, "But with nothing else but the clothes upon their back."

"Your Radiance," Reznak said carefully, "We cannot know if they are of the Harpy or if they mean to join your enemies. They are most likely simply going to their estates within the hills. They fear for their children."

"There is nothing to buy within the hills," Daenerys replied, "The gold shall stay in Meereen and they shall take none of it. Now, I have audiences to attend to."

She was still annoyed, even more so when it was revealed Hizdahr zo Loraq was once again seeking an audience with her. After she had granted him the request to bury the Great Masters within the plaza the man had come forth five more times to petition for the fighting pits to be reopened. Five times she denied him but the man did not seem to be deterred. Even her council were urging her to do so; Skahaz saying it would win her support against the Sons of the Harpy, Reznak stressed the amount of coin to be gained through taxes of the profits, both Daario and Strong Belwas, as past pit fighters, also encouraged it. Even Jorah stated it would help Meereen to take its mind from the current civil unrest to have them reopened. Daenerys did not shy away for violence for a decent sake but for simple entertainment was something she would not endorse.

"Hizdahr zo Loraq, I have refused you five times," she informed him from the ebony bench, clad in delicate white, "Have you come to petition for another cause this time?"

"I have not come alone, Your Radiance," Hizdahr said to her. He was dressed plain, with robes of blue and grey of a fine yet dull fabric.

He brought in his seven companions, too muscled and calloused to be Great Masters and with Hizdahr's introductions she realized he'd brought in the pit fighters themselves to plea his cause.

Daenerys knew them by name, the fighting slaves had been among the first to listen to Grey Worm and his Unsullied when they snuck within the bowels of Meereen for her attack. They were among the lead in the attack from within.

"Very well," Daenerys said, "Speak."

Like the previous petitions of Hizdahr, all seven of the fighting veterans asked the same thing; for the fighting pits to be reopened.

"Why?" she finally asked, once their pleas were done, "I freed you, none of you are beholden to the whims of the Great Masters. You are now free to chose your own paths, not to die within the pits."

"Dragon queen," Goghor the Giant, who aptly lived up to his name through towering over all his fellow fighters, "I train since three, I kill since six. You say I am free to chose, I chose to fight."

"If you wish to fight, then fight for me," Daenerys said, "Swear your sword to the Mother's Men or the Free Brothers or the Stalwart Shields. Teach my other freedmen how to fight."

Goghor shook his head, "You say I can chose; before I fight for the Masters, now you say I fight for you. But I chose to fight for me. For gold, for glory. Gold and glory just for me." He punctuated his words through pounding a great fist against his bare, scarred chest.

The Spotted Cat, who had the pelt of a leopard thrown over one shoulder, also spoke, "Goghor speaks for us all. When I was a slave I slept upon furs and ate fresh bloody meat. Now I sleep upon straw and have nothing but stale fish and that is only when I can get it."

Another, Khrazz, spoke, "Hizdar says any winners get half of all profits at the gates. More than any time of when the Great Masters owned us."

Daenerys was about to protest, mouth open to say it was not that simple when she shut it again. Because it _was_ that simple, wasn't it? She set them free but now she was demanding they fight only for her cause. Both Belwas and Daario had made that argument before, saying that if the fighters chose to fight then indeed it was their choice. 'Some peoples gifts are in killing others' Daario had pointed out to her, 'some want to spill guts, not sew cloth. That is their skill, and in many cases their only skill. Let them fight.'

"What about the losers?" she tried instead, "What will they receive?"

"Their names shall be carved upon the Gates of Fate with the other valiant fallen," declared Barsena Blackhair. For eight years she had killed every other woman sent against her. "All men must die, and women too but not all will be remembered. People die each day, let us do so with our own wishes. This time I fight solely for me, not for the demands of the masters. My coin and valour is mine. I say open the pits, Dragon Queen, so we can fight as we chose."

There were murmurs of agreement among the other pit fighters at Barsena's words and Daenerys was hesitant. It was their city long before hers and if it truly was their choice who was she to deny them? None of the pit fighters before her where children. They were grown adults and part of being free were the choices allowed. If they all chose to return to the pits...

"I will consider all you've said. Thank you for your counsel."

Hizdahr looked pleased at her words, since it was not an outright refusal like all other times he'd petitioned her. Despite the early hour Daenerys felt exhausted when he and pit fighters left. She did not understand the idea of violence for entertainment. She remembered the deaths at her wedding and how none seemed to care of a man dying upon the ground next to them. Death was inviable, being killed a high possibility, but to do so simply for entertainment was abhorrent for her. If they were enemy soldiers or even the Harpy's sons then yes, she could understand. But simply to stir the blood of a watching crowd did not settle well within her.

Even when Viserys was killed it was because of his actions, of threatening to cut Rhaego from her belly and leave her dead. She watched him die, her brother who she'd loved dearly until he transformed in a monster wearing Viserys' face, but she felt no pleasure. Just grim satisfaction, at knowing he would never again be able to harm her. A part of her, in the following days, wished he'd died sooner so that not so many memories of her brother had been tainted from his abuse. But he'd died due to his actions, not for sport. Not for gold or the cheers of a crowd.

She brooded over the issue all the way back to her chambers, Barristan and Missandei by her side. Barristan stopped at the threshold, obviously intending to stay guarding the doorway, but Daenerys beckoned him inside.

"Tell me how you escaped Kings Landing, Ser Barristan," She asked, even as she settled down at one of the tables. She wished for no more tales of the pit and instead yearned for something of valour.

Through the windows of her chambers she could see the tip of one of Ghidorah's tails swaying back and forth like a particularly strange fruit. Already it was larger than any of the flanged maces in the armoury.

"Your Grace, there is no particular interest in a story of my simply fleeing for my life."

"Either way, I wish to hear it. It was the Usurpers son who dismissed you, wasn't it? Joffrey Baratheon."

"Indeed, Your Grace. They cited advanced age for my dismissal but their interest was elsewhere; they wished the Hound to wear a gold cloak and to give the title of lord commander of the Kingsguard to the Kingslayer. When they informed me of it before the audience, I...reacted harshly and removed my cloak and threw my sword at their feet."

"What did you say?" Daenerys asked, curious.

Barristan grimaced, "The truth, yet such a thing is not well received at that court. I left that room with my head held high yet I did not know where I would go. I gathered by things and penned my final accord in the White Book when I realized I never should have accepted Robert's pardon. He was a good knight yet a terrible king for he had no right to the throne he sat upon and had desire to rule over the kingdom and everyone suffered for it. It was then I realized I need to redeem myself and must serve the one true king with all the strength that remains within me."

"Viserys."

"Yes. However I was set upon in the stables by the gold cloaks. Joffrey had offered me a tower to die in and when I spurned that it became a dungeon. The commander of the city watch confronted me along with three of his men. I was without my sword but I still had my dagger. I escaped the Red Keep yet the roads were congested and I was caught at River Gate. They crossed their spears to bar my way."

"How did you escape?" Daenerys asked, still intrigued.

"A true knight is worth ten guardsmen, Your Grace," Barristan said even when he explained how he'd killed the men who were sent to stop him. How he was left with nothing but a staff and a handful of silver, sleeping in streets and eating what he could. And how he witnessed Ned Stark lose his head.

"A traitors end," Daenerys said at that.

"Your Grace," said Barristan, voice calm, "Eddard Stark played a part in your family's fall but he bore you no ill will. When the Spider Varys told us that you were with child Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand."

"Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?" she said angrily.

"Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace."

 _The Lannisters and Cleganes, built upon the bones of children and everyone knows the Cleganes were brought as dogs for the lions,_ she thought. Above she heard Ghidorah's low growl as he sensed her rising temper. _And those numerous birds of the Spider, spinning him tales of Rhaego. Would I have had my son, if not for his spies?_ Even Vaes Dothrak was not free of those little birds and their treacherous songs.

"Lannister or Stark, what is the difference?" she said aloud, "If there is a pack of hounds and only one rips out your throat, would you only blame that single hound? Or the whole pack, for joining the hunt?"

She was scowling and so she picked up one of the pears in the gilded bowl upon the table and bit into it angrily. Missandei offered her some wine but Daenerys waved her away; the wine of Meereen was bitter now, the Masters having burnt the old fields of ripe grown trees in their retreat and now only bitter young ones remained. Food was always in peril.

"I tire of this topic," she said, staring at the gilded bowl upon the table and the delicate patterns and gemstones set within it, "Leave me."

They both bowed, Missandei parting with a swirl of silks and Barristan with the clicking of chainmail and armoured plates.

She got up to pace, munching away on the pear. Outside the window she could see the long barbs on Ghidorah's tail flexing. They were now longer than her forearm, serrated like bastard blades.

The people of Meereen needed to settle, the blood upon the stones needed to dry but the Harpy was doing everything possible to halt that. She'd proceeded with her plans to plant new crops, to dig ditches to create new water ways from the rivers. One of her orders was to take the Good Masters or, if they'd been crucified, their grown siblings or children or relatives who'd ordered the burnings to lead those endeavours. Let them known manual labour, let them work next to those they'd enslaved for centuries after their spiteful arson. Wounded pride but better than their heads upon spikes. Food, food, food. It seemed to be as such a topic as the Harpy's Sons. At the very least they still had their fishing vessels; Ghidorah's presence in Dragon's Bay had scared off any pirates in the area. At one point a Yunkai'i ship had tried to creep down the river only to turn and flee when Ghidorah had started circling it like a hunting eagle. They had not returned.

Far further up the city the blockade continued, as did the one beyond the sea. None dared to venture within sight of Meereen, however. They still had fish.

She still felt grief over not going to Westeros. Ruling was arduous but Daenerys could not look away from the sins of the slaver cities. She couldn't simply leave with her army as she knew those freed would be back in chains before her host left sight of the city. Much like with Yunkai.

Finished with the pear she stepped out onto the balcony and tossing the stem over the side. Above at the flat plinth tip of the Great Pyramid Ghidorah was curled up like a cat, his scales shimmering with his easy breathing. He looked deceptively placid with his dozing. She wanted to reach out to him but didn't, not wanting to burden him with her guilt and uncertainty. Ghidorah did not understand politics or city management.

A butcher queen, she could be. It would be so easy, to simply give the order for all the Great Masters and their families to be dragged into the plaza and executed. Ghidorah could do so, his breath could blast them all into dust and leave no bodies behind to rot and stink the air with flies. Take the source of the problem and be done with it. Surprise would need to be used, so the lesser pyramids could not have the chance to mobilize in defence before they were dragged out. But at the same time she couldn't just execute her subjects upon a whim or out of irritation. But it was also not fair for the freemen to suffer for the selfish wish of the masters. More would die each day from knives in the dark.

The opportunity to leave to Westeros felt as if it were slipping through her fingers like sand. 

Her current means of ruling Meereen wasn't working. She was compromising, she was compromising too much and the Great Masters took her mercy to mean she was weak. 

She thought of Ben Plumm's comment at how she had not used her dragon for war, only for executions. At how the slavers were taking advantage of this. Of her hesitation.

Daenerys leaned against the marble railing of the balcony, a soft warm breeze ruffling her silver-gold hair. Below she could hear the hustle and bustle of Meereen's daylight activity and the air carried the scent of the sea.

Aegon the Conqueror was, perhaps, the most well known name in all of Westeros. Even in Essos he was known, not as well and not as often but still known. The last family of dragonlords.

Aegon was also a man who offered mercy, Daenerys knew. When he and his sisters began the conquest of Westeros Aegon offered the kings the chance to accept his rule without bloodshed if they just bent the knee.

However when they rebuked him, like King Hoare of Harrenhal or Loren Lannister, Aegon offered no mercy to them just as he promised. He only accepted their surrender once he deemed them sufficiently humbled and ignored their pleas until he judged them cowed.

But Aegon also had Visenya and Rhaenys by his side; fellow Targaryens, fellow dragonriders, who understood the burden of his blood and status.

She was alone naught for her child, the last two dragons. She had to wonder what Aegon would think of her and Ghidorah. Would he encourage her west? Or would he simply slew the masters and be done with it? Perhaps he would have done so, perhaps he would have used Balerion upon the lesser pyramids and burnt the noble families alive for the indignity and offence of refusing to accept her rule. One warning was all the Conqueror would give.

Daenerys turned away from the loft view of Meereen, walking back into her chambers to search for her books. Well thumbed and read but currently the only comfort she had.

* * *

Her sleep that night was shallow and she woke up three times with forgotten nightmares biting at her nerves. Each time it was her child which woke her, a probing at her mind that jolted her from whatever terror stalked her sleep. At the top of the pyramid, where her chambers were now located, when she stepped out onto the balcony she could easily see her child perched at the tip of the Great Pyramid upon the empty plinth where the harpy had stood. He was too large to fit through the windows or door but when she was in the balcony he could reach down his heads to her, within reach. The third time she stirred she stayed outside, wrapped up in a lion's pelt with a hand pressed against his scaly snout. Ghidorah did not understand the nuance of ruling and she envied him for his more simplistic way of reasoning. It reminded her of the Dothraki, who simply took what they wanted and hang the consequences.

Daenerys couldn't remember when she'd had a fully rested, safe sleep. It seemed she was always on edge, the troubles of Meereen gnawing at her innards like the tiny fish within the bath of the gardens.

A part of her wanted to leap up Ghidorah's back and flee. He would not try to argue her out of it, he would take to the dark sky and they could travel across the entirety of Essos. Even fly over the narrow sea and fly over Kings Landing. He could fly above the clouds, out of range of any bolt or arrow. Fly all the way north to see the Wall. See if there truly were dead men with blue eyes lurking in the lands of forever winter. Or perhaps go east, to the shadow lands. Or perhaps to Old Valyria, to fly over the smoking sea and glimpse the wandering demons within the smog.

Or perhaps to Braavos, to seek out the house with the red door and the lemon tree. Back when she could be a child, be young and cheerful without the crushing burden of rule and when Viserys was a dear brother, not a tormentor. The dagger of the Harpy hung tight above her nape like a noose but she could not just abandon everyone who followed her, who put their trust and lives upon her, simply because her neck was beginning to ache from the weight of a crown. 

Ghidorah's presence anchored her as well. His mind was older, less flighty and curious than when he'd been a hatching and they'd crossed the Red Waste. Now it was more watchful and hungry. His simplistic view helped soothe her worries even if she did not agree with him. The Targaryens had tamed themselves upon Valyria but their scaly cohorts never did. She wondered if she'd been happier if she'd risen from Drogo's pyre as an actual dragon, free to fly and free to shake free the bonds of responsibility. To never brood upon anything than when her next meal would be.

She dozed there upon the balcony, overlooking the city and leaning against her child's snout with a pelt wrapped around her when a distant rumble and a surge of excitement woke up Daenerys from her shallow sleep. She jolted up, confused as Ghidorah pulled away from her from where his heads had been draped over the side of the pyramid, rearing up upon his hind legs with his large wings unfurled. It couldn't be an intruder, Ghidorah would have reacted and the door to her chambers was well guarded.

Instead she followed the direction he was staring towards but it was still deep in the night so she could see nothing. Then a distant flash lit up the landscape in a jolt of lightning, illuminating the hills and crests of the ocean and the billowing thick clouds.

_A thunderstorm?_

They happened before, in her time within Drogo's khalasar as they roamed the Dothraki Sea. Some were so vicious with wind they'd hurl tents and even people around. Others were just accompanied by the lightning which could cause wild fires or unleash torrential rain down upon them. Ghidorah had never seen one before, she realized. The weather had been blessedly mildly in her campaign so far.

Above her, Ghidorah huffed before his left most head leaned down to nip at the pelt wrapped around Daenerys' shoulder and nearly pulled her over. His eagerness washed over her, despite her own mounting confusion. It took her a few moments, and some more nips from her child, for her to realize what he wanted her to do.

_He wants me to ride him? He wants to fly in the storm?_

The winds could be ferocious in storms and when she looked back over the balcony she could see how the lightning strikes were getting closer and closer. Brief flashes of cold blue, compared with the gold of Ghidorah's breath. Her child's wings grew stronger every day but to directly fly within the maw of a storm...

Ghidorah's excitement, his desire to share that moment with his mother, swept her doubts and fears away like a riverbank bursting. Daenerys found herself almost sprinting back into her room, even as the peals of thunder grew louder as she ransacked her room for clothing, tossing aside silks and pelts and fragile fabric until she found something appropriate.

It was her Dothraki garb, for comfort over long weeks of riding rather than aloft wealth. Breeches and woven shirt, hardy boots intended for long wear. Her fingers fumbled as she quickly changed, Ghidorah's overriding giddiness making her nervous and sent her stomach rolling. Her hair was tied up awkwardly in a long tail, Daenerys ignoring how unkempt it was to the elegant braids Missandei wove within her hair. Daenerys also grabbed more loops of leather for her hands, tying them around her wrists and hands. That way she'd be able to anchor herself to Ghidorah like a makeshift harness.

Daenerys barely got back onto the balcony before Ghidorah picked her up, teeth firm but gentle as he grabbed her shoulder with one jaw and her waist with another. He deposited her upon his back, and Daenerys firmly looped the leather around two thick spikes at the base of his central neck. She'd barely tied them secure before Ghidorah pushed off from the top of the pyramid, great wings mimicking the thunder in the distance as he rapidly ascended.

Normally she would refuse to do such a thing; previously her flights with Ghidorah had been calm. He had never taken quick or abrupt movements with her upon his back, as if he feared to dislodge her. And Daenerys had also been hesitant, wanting to acclimate to riding him. Stationed within Meereen, she'd been so busy ruling and dealing with the treacherous Harpy's she had not flown with him for quite some time. Now they were heading straight towards the gigantic thunderstorm slowly but surely making its way to Meereen.

However there was no uncertainty in Ghidorah's mind, his enthusiasm washing over Daenerys and filling her limbs with fire. It reminded her of when she lit Drogo's pyre with the eggs and the maegi lashed to it, to walk among the flames. Sheer overriding instinct, the knowledge that it was _right._

She clung to his mind, their thoughts merging that Daenerys could feel the sweep of their wings, the wind whipping through their hair and the rain washing over their golden scales and skin as they approached the great storm. Another peal of thunder boomed over the landscape even as more flashes of lightning lit up the roiling clouds and then they shot into the stormfront like a golden arrowhead.

Daenerys got soaked to the bone in seconds but Ghidorah's scales were hot beneath her, keeping the chill away even if she barely noticed it. Through their bond she could sense how Ghidorah studied the wind that screamed around them, at how he knew when to fold or flare his wings to keep himself aloft and moving rather than simply being thrown aside like a leaf in a current.

They were a glittering speck among the roiling clouds, so dark it was as if they were surrounding by pulsating shadows. Occasionally lightning would lance through, lighting up the area and making Ghidorah's scales seem silver. Then the thunder followed, roaring and grumbling until she could hear nothing else.

Her own joy mingled with Ghidorah, the euphoria of flying within a raging tempest even with her hair and skin soaked. Sometimes Ghidorah would loop and for a dizzying moment she'd be upside down, so swiftly her body had no time to fall before they were back spiralling through the black clouds. Her fingers were frozen, gripping tight of his slick spines and the leather creaking as Ghidorah surged beneath her. The dense muscles in his wing arms and spine flexed, making his scales ripple like a golden hoard as he shot through another cloudfront with Daenerys laughing upon his back. 

Then a fork of lightning struck the claw tip of Ghidorah's wing, the membrane glowing bright and Daenerys _felt_ the lightning as it travelled through her after snaking down his wing in a great jolt before it shot out the tip of his opposite wing. Though when it lanced back out into the tempest it was edged in gold, rather than the cold blue tint of before.

It made her reel, insides tingling and violet eyes sparkling before another lightning bolt struck Ghidorah's right head, to ripple right down his horns and spines and again it burst through her like a bucking horse before radiating out of his wing fingers.

Ghidorah trilled before opening his mouths, spitting out three lances of brilliant golden light that rapidly got swallowed within the storm and soaring back through the black clouds with a flare of his great wings.

Something began to shift as they danced, as if the storm was now no longer buffeting and pushing against Ghidorah and her but rather coiling around them and flying _with_ them even as the lightning snaking through the storm grew more and more gold tinted until it gleamed just like Ghidorah's breath as it rabbited next to them through the clouds. More of it struck Ghidorah but his body absorbed it easily as if he was a part of it- and just as easily passed through her from where she clung tight to her child, their shared joy mingling together as she continued to laugh miles high above the city.

Below, Meereen was struck with ferocious winds that ripped open shutters and torrential rain which rapidly began to flood the sewers and make the river run swollen as the residents cowered within their homes. Lightning danced through the clouds, tongues of the brilliant light occasionally lashing down below and exploding the burnt remains of the orchids or scorching the stone paths. Thunder boomed so loudly it made windows rattle even as dogs howled and horses whinnied.

High above in the heart of the great tempest, the lightning and clouds swirling around them, mother and child continued to dance with the storm.

* * *


	13. The proposal

* * *

Daenerys woke surrounded by gold.

She felt groggy, muscles pleasantly sore as she shifted. The mass she was lying against exhaled and Daenerys realized she was pressed up against Ghidorah's side, tucked between his middle neck and shoulder with a neck coiled around her while a great wing was stretched over her like a tent canvas. Her child was curled around her like a cat upon her kittens. Daenerys could feel her body moving up and down in time with Ghidorah's steady breathing, the golden dragon in deep slumber.

While she didn't mind sleeping some more, Daenerys could see the brightness of Ghidorah's wing membranes to know it was now day. Carefully she extracted herself from her child, the dragon's sleep deep enough he didn't stir. Daenerys couldn't even remember Ghidorah returning to the Great Pyramid after the storm; the last she could remember was the roar of thunder and flashes of lightning, skin and hair soaked with rain as they flew through the black clouds.

Now the sky was clear as she squirmed out from Ghidorah's wing, squinting at the brilliant sun. However she could see the flooded land outside Meereen's walls and at the wharf she could see how some of the ships had broken masts or torn sails, the sailors streaming over them like ants from such a distance. No doubt there was more damage within the city itself, which she couldn't see.

Eventually Daenerys climbed down one of Ghidorah's tails, using the spikes along the scaled length like a ladder to carefully lower herself down onto the balcony of her chambers. She still felt exhausted in the best way, muscles aching and clothing ragged with her hair a knotted mess.

"Your Grace!"

Daenerys jumped at Missandei's cry, the scribe running out of her chambers the moment Daenerys stepped towards the doors.

"Your Grace, are you unharmed?" the other woman fretted even as Daenerys saw Jorah hurry into the room.

Abruptly Daenerys realized how it must've looked to Missandei when she'd come to wake her; the room in disarray, clothes strewn across the floor with her bed covers thrown aside and the window shutters wide open to the storm with no sign of the queen.

"I- forgive me, Missandei," Daenerys said, feeling embarrassed, "I was flying with Ghidorah and fell asleep with him, I was unaware of the late hour."

"Last night? During the storm?' Missandei asked even as she finished checking over Daenerys for any potential injury.

"Khalessi-" Jorah's voice was breathless and his hands hovered over her shoulders, as if he wanted to grab her to make sure she really was standing before him.

"My apologies for making any of you worry," Daenerys said, reaching out to squeeze Jorah's hand, "I had been sleeping with my child and slumbered far longer than intended. I am unharmed."

"We had feared that the Sons of the Harpy had perhaps taken you," Missandei said, though the tense line of her shoulders had now relaxed, "I reasoned your dragon would not be sleeping so patiently if so, despite our fears. I should have tried to rouse your dragon."

Jorah's relief was palpable and he quickly informed the others of her Queensguard and council she was quite safe. As he did so, Missandei helped Daenerys bathe and then spent a long amount of time carefully combing free the tangles snarled within her hair. Daenerys tried not to wince as Missandei methodically soothed out the gnarled tresses before weaving together a braid. Another smaller braid was tied just behind her ear, with the silver bells threaded through. Then a dress of white with a golden collar and bangles for her wrists, the necklace of dragon tooth around her throat and a ring with a large shimmering pearl upon a band of silver for a single finger.

Once presentable Daenerys met with her council which, once again, brought bad news when she granted the audience with the envoy of Astapor.

There were only four awaiting an audience with her but the first, Ghael from Astapor, brought bad tidings indeed.

"Your Radiance," he moaned, bony fingers clawing at the front of his robes, "The armies of the Yunkai'i descend on Astapor and bring death and misery. I beg of you, come south with all your strength!"

"I am not the regent of Astapor," Daenerys said harshly, "Cleon's war is of his own making, when he turned into a master and destroyed whatever peace was there."

Ghael ignored her words, "I know that the Mother of Dragons will not abandon us in our hour of peril so I rushed here with as much speed as I could summon. Lend us your Unsullied to defend our walls."

"And if I do, who will defend my walls? Many of my freedmen were slaves in Astapor and chose to follow me. Perhaps some will wish to help defend your king when you cite your need. That is their choice, as is the right of free men. I gave Astapor its freedom. It is up to you to defend it, it is up to your king to defend it."

"We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom." Ghael scrambled back to his feet and spat into her face.

Jorah seized the man by the shoulder, smashing him face first against the marble floor with the sound of breaking teeth and a splatter of blood. Skahaz also started forward, pulling his blade free but Daenerys stopped them both with a wave of her hand.

"Enough. No one has died from spit," she said, accepting the kerchief Missandei offered her to wipe the spittle from her cheek, "My answer is no, Ghael. Get out."

Ghael was hauled from the audience hall, leaving behind a pool of blood and teeth. A pair of servants swiftly cleaned the mess with a bucket of sand and a horse-bristle brush before the other petitioners were sent in. Luckily those were more easily resolved, one being a pair in a quarrel over a house and the other seeking monetary compensation for his goat herd which Ghidorah had devoured two days past.  
When she was seated in her garden Jorah came to her, Missandei retreating to grant them privacy when he gave her the scroll sent by hawk. When she read it she felt deep irritation and exhaustion.

Cleon was dead, slain by his own men when he tried to force the troops out to attack the Yunkai'i army. The one who killed him quickly surrendered the city to the slavers and now slavery was once again alive in the city of Astapor. And the Qartheen captain had left, leaving behind a single ship with a bloodied glove for her men to find; a declaration of war. All other Qarth vessels were gone, no doubt to consolidate power with the Yunkai army now that Astapor had fallen. Ghael's plead had come far too late, even if Daenerys had chosen to stay her hand.

Her good mood vanished, Daenerys handed the scroll back to Jorah with a scowl. Above upon the top of the Great Pyramid Ghidorah still slept and in the far distance over the balcony in the gardens the large pools of rain water shimmered among the fields. She turned back to Jorah, her oldest friend and confidant, where he waited patiently for her response. It seemed almost a lifetime ago, when he handed her the small assortment of books about Westeros as a gift for her wedding. She still had them in her chamber, had kept them during the march from Astapor. Had kept them even when crossing the Red Waste.

"My liberation of Dragon's Bay isn't going quite as planned, is it?" Daenerys finally said, her words more a sigh. Around her the garden ignored her bad mood, all lush green and unfurled flowers.

It was more rhetorical but Jorah answered her nonetheless, "You could sail for Westeros, Khalessi. Hand the city over to a council, a true council, not one like Astapor. You already have a city watch-"

"Skahaz would just execute all of the masters."

"Perhaps. However people die everyday and it would be their city. Even with your peace there is death. Cleon sought war and that is what he got."

"I think of such a thing quite often," Daenerys said, "Of simply killing the masters. Drag them to the plaza and have my child destroy them all."

Jorah didn't speak but she could plainly see what he was thinking simply from his expression and she felt anger.

"The masters tear babies from their mother's arms, they mutilate little boys by the thousands and teach little girls the art of pleasuring old rich men," she snapped, back tensing, "They treat fellow people like beasts, like dogs to collar and beat. Which you yourself have said," Daenerys went for a direct attack.

"Dragging the Great Masters into pens and slaughtering them by the thousands is also treating them like beasts," Jorah argued to her, "The slaves you freed...brutality and violence is all they've ever known. If you wish to teach them something else, to let them learn before you leave so they do not fall like Yunkai and Astapor, you must show them. You are no butcher."

"And repay the masters how? With kindness? A fine? A stern warning?"

Jorah frowned, straightening up before he said, "It is compelling to want to see your enemies as evil, but there is good and evil on every side especially in war."

"They have their own gods and priests here," Daenerys said, "They can debate the morality of slavery as much as they want but owning another person is wrong and it is a real thing. I can end it, I _will_ end it."

"I sold men into slavery, Khalessi," Jorah said quietly as he rounded the table before her.

"And now you are helping me show them to freedom," she said insistently.

"I wouldn't be here to help you if Ned Stark had done to me what you wish to do to the Great Masters."

She stared at Jorah before letting out a sigh, gaze dropping to the carved map on the table before her. There were the tiny dips and rises of the hills, the painted blue of the ocean. She could see the delicate brush strokes of the Free Cities along the west coast of Essos, then further across the painted mountains that lurked above Dragons Bay. Or Slaver's Bay, as it was still called upon the map.

"I am trying, Jorah," she said quietly, suddenly so exhausted, "I'm trying and it's not working."

Jorah moved closer, carefully touching her shoulder with a calloused hand.

"You have a gentle heart," Jorah said quietly, "The free slaves have seen that, that is why they call you mother. Yes, you killed the Great Masters but you spare the majority when others would have slaughtered them all. You stayed behind in Meereen, despite Westeros waiting, because you want to show the people a better way after hearing what happened in Astapor and Yunkai. You could have left them to their fates, even now you struggle but continue to preserve. Centuries can pass without a ruler such as you coming into the world, one who truly puts the people first despite your own desires."

Daenerys could feel her face burn at the earnest nature of Jorah's words, resisting the urge to fidget with her dress.

"Even now it's why you stay despite your desire for Westeros. You wish to protect the people. You feel a responsibility to those you rule. That is far more than many cities have of their rulers."

She sighed again, but nonetheless forged on, "As my forebears did. I am the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and I must not look back. Yunkai will come for Meereen."

"Perhaps," Jorah agreed, "But they will take time to regroup and march, to deal with their losses at Astapor. Meereen's walls are strong. Your soldiers have already fixed the weakness of the sewer ways, they will not find an easy access to the city."

"Nonetheless, we should start preparations in case of a siege. Especially if Qarth are to join," Daenerys replied, "You will go oversee these preparations. For myself, I have another meeting to attend."

* * *

Galazza Galare arrived at the Great Pyramid attended by a dozen White Graces, girls of noble birth who were still too young to have served their year in the temple's pleasure gardens. They made for a pretty portrait to Daenerys, with the proud old woman all in green surrounded by the little girls robed and veiled in delicate white silk. They had come from the Temple of the Graces, the golden domes visible from her chambers high in the pyramid. Their robes showed their statues in the temple; the high priestess, of which there was only ever one, clad in the shimmering green silk and the girls in white who were of noble blood. Then the ones in red who were the prostitutes, the blue who were the healers, pink who attended the temple and Green Grace's needs and some other colours Daenerys had not yet known. They worshipped the Gods of Ghis, with the Green Grace of each temple seeming to get visions or dreams from the Gods they worshipped. Such as how the High Septon of the Seven would interpret possible messages. She knew the Septon of Aegon's era had fasted for seven days and nights to pray for guidance from the Gods and saw Oldtown burn under dragons breath so accepted the Conqueror's rule once he emerged.

The priestess of Ghis was regarded just as highly so Daenerys met the old woman graciously and invited her to the Great Pyramid for advice regarding the current civil unrest. The war beyond Meereen's walls wasn't the only threat, the Harpy's still taking lives within the streets. The Green Grace was an old woman, skin dark and wrinkled with hair white from age. However her green eyes were sharp above her shimmering silk veil as she accepted Daenerys' offer of a private supper. The Green Grace had advocated for peace when Daenerys took Meereen, encouraging acceptance, and obedience to lawful authority.

The cooks had prepared them a meal of fresh honeyed lamb, fragrant with crushed mint and served with the small green figs she were particularly fond of. Through the windows she could see Ghidorah gliding above the city before the dragon began to ascend, his flight slow and careful as if he was still tired from their late night soar through the storm, before she watched him flap his wings to be quickly being lost from view. The room was warm, the weather kind in the aftermath of the storm.

They exchanged pleasantries before they settled down to eat, the White Graces being entertained by Missandei as Daenerys spoke to the Green Grace.

"If you will forgive my saying so, Your Radiance looks...weary. Are you sleeping well?" The Green Grace's voice was gentle.

"More of my people were slain this morning," Daenerys said, "Weavers this time, none warriors and suffered from the knives of cowards."

She had one of a tapestries hanging upon the wall of her chambers, a gift. And now those who made it were dead.

"This we have heard," the old woman shook her head, the green silks shimmering, "And yet Your Radiance has found the courage to answer butchery with mercy."

"Mercy which means more dead upon the street. The Sons of the Harpy are laughing in their pyramids," the fig tasted like ash but Daenerys made herself eat it.

"Yet you are no butcher," the Green Grace said, "Astapor has one and now he is bloodying the fields with his own and the Yunkai'i. They have died due to his brutish folly."

"The river is also now barred. Three galleys from New Ghis have joined the ships from Yunkai far up the river and a carrack out of Tolos." The Tolosi had also called her a whore and demanded that she hand Meereen back over the Great Masters in their brief contact. There was also the numerous ships that fled Meereen when she began her siege, which now waited just upon the horizon of the sea to wait for its fellow slaver army to return even if they hadn't dared to venture within range. With the fall of Astapor soon war would come to Meereen.

The Green Grace sighed, even if her eyes remained fixed upon Daenerys, "These are indeed grievous times. Your Radiance, might I presume to offer you my counsel?"

"You may."

"Then heed me now and marry."

Daenerys didn't bother to hide her grimace, regardless of how rude it was.

The Green Grace was unfettered by Daenerys' response as she forged ahead, "To look upon you, Your Radiance, you seem half a child. Young and far too frail to suffer these trials alone. You need a king beside you to help you bear these burdens."

Daenerys chose to take her time eating a slice of honeyed lamb, carefully cutting the flesh and then nibbling it in a delicate motion. Daenerys did not answer until she'd finished her portion, carefully wiping the honey from her lips.

"Pray tell, can this 'king' you speak of puff his cheeks up and blow the galleys up river back to Yunkai?" Daenerys asked, "Can he clap his hands and break the death of Astapor? Can he put food in the empty bellies of my children and bring peace back to my bloody streets?"

"Can you?" the Green Grace asked, not at all deterred by Daenerys' tone, "A king is not a god, but there is still much that a strong man might do which you cannot. When my people look at you they see a pale-skinned conqueror from across the seas, come to murder us and make slaves of our children and kill our sons. A king could change that. A highborn king of pure Ghiscari blood could reconcile the city to your rule and help soothe the ragged souls of the people. Elsewise, I fear, your reign must end as it began in blood and fire. Your Radiance shall forever remain a stranger amongst us, a grotesque outlander, a barbarian conqueror if not having a Ghiscari man born and bred in Meereen by your side."

Daenerys ate several more figs before asking, "And do the Gods of Ghis have a name for this man? Have they given you such a vision?"

"Hizdahr zo Loraq," Galazza Galare said firmly, wrinkled hands folded primly on her lap.

"Why Hizdahr? Skahaz is noble born as well."

"Skahaz is Kandaq, Hizdahr Loraq. Your Radiance will forgive me, but only one who is not herself Ghiscari would not understand the difference of these two names but those of our blood would. Oft have I heard that yours is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Wise, and Daeron the Dragon. The noble Hizdahr is of the blood of Mazdhan the Magnificent, Hazrak the Handsome, and Zharaq the Liberator. He will give you strong support and strong sons."

"His forebears are as dead as mine," Daenerys said, "Will Hizdahr raise their shades to defend Meereen against its enemies? I need a man with ships and swords to confront the coming war. You offer me ancestors and nothing else."

"We are an old people," The Green Grace said, "Ancestors are important to us. Wed Hizdahr zo Loraq and make a son with him, a son whose father is the harpy and whose mother is the dragon. In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled and your enemies will melt away like snow."

Daenerys already had a son and he would be the only child she would ever have. She wondered how the old woman would react, if she threw that in her face. At how her womb was barren, cursed by blood magic. 

"And what does my prospective husband think of this?" she asked the Green Grace, rather than the angry words that bit at her tongue.

"Your Grace need only ask him. The noble Hizdahr awaits below. Send down to him if that is your pleasure."

"You presume much," Daenerys said and after that did not deign to speak to the old woman until their meal was finished. The Green Grace did not challenge her and sat in silence. She had to wonder if he was a relative of Galazza Galare. She had strong doubts the Gods, any Gods, would care about a political marriage out of all the things troubling the world.

The Green Grace had finished eating the lamb and figs, dabbing a smear of honey off her lips before saying, "If it please Your Magnificence, I will take my leave. You and the noble Hizdahr will have many things to discuss, I do not doubt. I shall return to the Temple of the Graces and pray for the gods to show my queen the course of wisdom."

Daenerys let her leave without further comment, sipping at her goblet. Cooled spring water, as she'd lost her taste for the bitter wines now left to Meereen. Galazza Galare certainly hadn't hesitated in trying to shove a husband upon her.

With the Graces departure she sent her Unsullied guards to fetch Hizdahr. While waiting Daenerys spoke to Missandei and Barristan; Missandei in robes of light blue that shimmered slightly as she cleaned the table and Barristan clad in gold and white and looking as much a knight sung from a song.

"Missandei, do you believe that if I were to wed Hizdahr it would aid in ending the bloodshed? Speak honestly to me."

The golden eyed scribe hesitated, her features drawn into a faint frown as she thought over her response. "Your Grace, while the noble Galazza Galare may speak true that if you were to wed one of Old Ghis blood it would help strengthen your rule I do not believe it would cause the masters to accept the freemen. We are not human to them. To them, we will always be property wait to be reclaimed and sold. The Unsullied are simply weapons waiting to be taken back to their rightful masters. This- I am simply a whore or a tool, waiting to be given back to a rightful owner. Same for all the freemen. We are not people to the masters. Wedding you will not change their view of us and their desire to have us back in chains."

"As for you, Barristan?" Daenerys asked the old knight.

"It is not my place to chose a husband for you, Your Grace."

"All the same, I ask for your opinion in the matter."

"I am sworn to serve Your Grace, and to keep you safe from harm wherever you may go and die for you if need be. My place is by your side, whether here or in King's Landing but your place is back in Westeros, upon the Iron Throne that was your father's and your father's father and all the ancestors that came before them. The Seven Kingdoms will never accept Hizdahr zo Loraq as king if you wed him."

"Westeros is quite far away," Daenerys said quietly, rubbing her thumb over the pearl of her ring, "And seems to grow further each day."

"Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place-"

"I know. But Meereen must heal before I leave. I will not free the slaves only to abandon them when they need to be shown a new path. It would be as if I threw a puppy into the gutters and claimed I rescued it. I cannot leave the freemen while they need my protection, not with the blood still fresh and their future so uncertain."

"Your Grace," Missandei's voice was soft, "I...I do not trust the intentions of Loraq, his blood is of masters like the rest of the harpy's. I would not trust him with your well-being, even as a husband, much less with the well being of those freed. The masters cannot be trusted."

"Even so I cannot sit idle while people die in the streets from shadowed knives. You saw my brother Rhaegar wed," Daenerys turned to Barristan, "Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

Ser Barristan spoke, "I also saw your mother and father wed with no love between them and realm paid dearly for it."

"Why did they wed if they did not love each other?" Daenerys asked. 

"Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the Prince who was Promised would be born of their line and the prophecy gnawed upon them."

"A woods witch?" That was the first time Daenerys had heard of such a thing.

"She came with Jenny of Oldstones," Barristan said, "A dwarf, most thought, but Jenny was insistent she was one of the Children of the forest. A prophecy spoke and your parents wed in a loveless marriage with neither happy and many suffered for it."

 _Just as they suffered for Rhaegar wanting another woman than his wife,_ Daenerys thought, _How many died? How many would have been spared if Rhaegar had been permitted to chose his wife?_

They were interrupted with Hizdahr's arrival and Daenerys remained at the table as Missandei permitted Hizdahr entry when he arrived, the scribe curtseying before leaving them with Barristan a silent sentry. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him to unobtrusive when Daenerys was entertaining, even with his white and gold armour. He was a comforting presence as she greeted Hizdahr. As before, the Meereenese man was clad modestly in a plain green robe with a quilted vest. His expression was solemn as he bowed to her.

"An apprehensive greeting," Daenerys said, "Am I so fearsome?"

"I always grow solemn in the presence of such beauty."

She barely restrained the roll of her eyes, instead gesturing to the chair the Green Grace had departed, "Drink with me."

Daenerys sipped with her water as Hizdahr poured himself the wine from the golden flask.

"You know why you are here," she said, after he'd taken his first sip, "The Green Grace seems to be quite confident that if I take you for my husband, all my woes will vanish."

"I would never make so bold a claim," Hizdahr said, settling down his goblet, "Men are born to strive and suffer with our woes only vanishing when we die. I can be of help to you and your goal, however. I have gold and friends and influence, and the blood of Old Ghis flows in my veins. Though I have never wed I have two natural children, a boy and a girl, so I can give you heirs to further the future of Meereen. I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets."

"It takes courage to admit fear. And mistakes." Daenerys said, violet eyes flinty.

"Indeed. There have been mistakes on both sides, Your Radiance, and there is still a great deal of fear. I believe I can soothe them. To help bring an end to the killings."

"How? Why should the Sons of the Harpy lay down their knives for you? Why would you want to help me? For the crown?"

"A crown would suit me well I will not deny that but there is more to it. Is it so strange that I would want to protect my own people, as you protect your freemen and soldiers? Meereen cannot endure another war, Your Radiance. The people are tired and the other cities are falling."

That was a good answer, and an honest one so she responded in kind, "I have never wanted war. I defeated the Yunkai'i once and spared their city when I might have sacked it because I believed they could build a new future with that gold. I refused to join King Cleon when he began to march against them. Even now, with Astapor bloodied, I stay my hand as I promise. The war was of their own making. And Qarth...Most believe I killed the Thirteen. I am no warrior and my child was a hatchling. I could hardly kill thirteen grown men as I am. Which they do not seem to care for either way."

"Perhaps not but Qarth is also city of merchants and they love their golds and silver. When you destroyed the slave trade in Slavers Bay the blow was felt from Westeros to Asshai. Qarth depends upon its slaves as a currency even with the Thirteen seats filled again. So too Tolos, New Ghis, Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis The list is long of those with grievances against you, my queen. Custom and caution had an iron grip upon us till you awakened us with fire and blood. A new time has come and new things are possible. Marry me and we can being a new era to Meereen."

"One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father's," Daenerys told him.

"All men must die," Hizdahr replied, "But it serves no good to brood upon death. I take each day as they come and upon this current day you are in Meereen and blood is wet in the streets."

He is not hard to look at, Daenerys could see, and he has a king's tongue. Perhaps he would be a decent husband. Of her council only Reznak mo Reznak would be pleased though she'd come to mistrust Reznak mostly due to his simpering and pungent perfume.

Perhaps the Green Grace was correct in that. That she needed a king, a king of old Ghiscari blood. Else wise they will always see her as the uncouth barbarian who smashed through their gates, crucified their king and stole their wealth. Then again, even if she did marry Hizdahr they'd still think the same. And she had no guarantee the Harpy would even obey a means to stop the carnage. They hated her because she freed their slaves. How would a Ghiscari husband change that? Reznak had brought her a list of the names of the captains in the blockage up the river and further out to sea; all of Meereenese Great Master stock. Including Loraq. As Missandei said, they could not be trusted. For all she knew Hizdahr would poison her the instant they were married and become the sole ruler of Meereen where he could hand over the freemen back to the masters.

_Marriage or carnage. A wedding or a war. Are those my choices? I wish to be flying back in that storm with my child._

'No ruler can make a people good,' Barristan had told her once when she lamented to the old knight after a council meeting, 'Baelor the Blessed prayed and fasted and built the Seven as splendid a temple as any gods could wish for, yet he could not put an end to war and want.'

The Green Grace's suggestion for her to marry Hizdahr was another compromise. Perhaps he was earnest, perhaps he spoke the truth when he wished to see Meereen as a city free of slaves and living prosperously with no more masters. Or perhaps he was a Harpy, waiting to poison her once he took the crown. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Would she be willing to gamble her life on such a thing? A queen belonged to her people but she had to serve their interests. If she handed over the city to a potential harpy what kind of queen would she be? Didn't she hand over Yunkai to the slavers the moment she left?

Hizdahr didn't interrupt her thoughts, instead sipped his wine while watching her intently.

"Very well," Daenerys said, putting down her goblet.

The delicate silver bells chimed softly in her hair as she folded her hands on top of the table. She was a queen, she needed to act like one. Aegon did not bow and scrape to the kings of Westeros when he and his wives descended upon them.

"Words are wind, even words like love and peace," Daenerys said evenly, looking Hizdahr right in the eye, "I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms it is know that knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon's hoard to be shown as the strength of their worth."

Hizdahr spoke, "The only dragon I know of is yours and I know not of magic swords. Gold and gems I have and I will gladly offer you as many chests filled with such treasures if you so desire."

"No. I will demand only one thing from any potential husband," Daenerys said in a voice which brooked no argument, "I am the blood of dragons, of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel. I am the daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons. I have no use for a husband who cannot burden these titles. If we are to wed I will only ask a single thing of you."

"And what do you wish, my queen?"

"Gain the approval of my child. Do such a thing and I will marry you post-haste."

Hizdahr stared at her but Daenerys' glare was stern and unyielding.

Awkwardly he cleared his throat, "And how am I to do such a thing?"

"I shall bring him to the plaza before the Great Pyramid," Daenerys said, "If he permits you to touch his snout then I shall know he approves of you."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then you die," she said, "I will have no tolerance for a man who does not understand what it would mean to be consort to dragons. If you cannot face my child then you will not have my hand."

"Your Radiance," Hizdahr protested, "A dragon cannot understand the issues of Meereen. It is a monster of war. It will not appease the ancient families of Meereen-"

"I will not wed a man who cannot look upon the face of my families history and will simply cower," Daenerys said, "I am not forcing this decision upon you. If you feel you cannot face my child then don't and you may leave without rebuke. However that will be a proclamation for any who want my hand. They must gain my child's approval and that is it. Fail and he will eat those suitors alive and prove they are too weak to marry into the blood of dragons. I have no tolerance for a husband who will not understand the burden of my blood."

Hizdahr fell silent, obviously hearing the fury in her voice and not willing to challenge her further.

Her voice softer, Daenerys continued, "If you feel you cannot confront him then you may decline. However you said you wish to see no more violence in Meereen; perhaps you should direct your energies to placating the other ancient families rather than chasing my hand. For war is approaching and for when it does I will fly out upon my child's back and blast Yunkai's army to dust. The people of the world haven't seen dragons in battle for centuries, even more so in Essos, and it seems many have forgotten they have never lost a war."

"...As you command, my queen," Hizdahr's voice was even but she didn't miss the sour set to his mouth. She cared not for what she said was truth. Why should she trust a man by her side if he refused to confront her child?

"You say you wish an end to the traditions and violence of Meereen, you are one of the noble houses and still hold your wealth and influence. Perhaps you should start there, to forge a new beginning to the city. Not as a king but as a true servant of Meereen."

Hizdahr left bitter and foiled, even if he hid it well. Even if he did not take her test, did not wish to test Ghidorah's tolerance. Daenerys had to wonder when he and the Green Grace had hatched this plan, and she was acutely aware of Missandei's warnings to not trust the masters. How they would never see the freemen as equals, rather just misplaced property. Still, she made sure to send word that from now on any who would seek her hand must confront her child. She would accept no less and neither would her child.

Daenerys retreated back to the terrace gardens after the failed negotiation, feet in the pool to let the fish nibble as she read through several reports. Barristan had gone to his squires for the afternoon so she had thrice the guard of Unsullied, including Grey Worm whom she spoke with of potential tactics in the coming siege. Despite her warning she had no doubt Yunkai would come to her and it would be the first time she would take Ghidorah to war. Perhaps she should have her own chain mail made for her, something that didn't hinder her movements upon Ghidorah's back if she was to use him.

But she remembered how strong his wings were in the storm, how it had seemed to bend until it was chasing _him_ instead of the other way around. Perhaps she had just gone mad in the storm, even if she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so much, when she'd felt so free. Now though she was dragged back down, to pour over reports of previous sieges and tactics and how they may aid her.

She had been discussing the potential of installing mounted catapults upon Meereen's wall with Grey Worm when they were interrupted.

"Your Grace," Barristan's calm voice stirred her from her low discussion with the Unsullied captain.

She turned to the old knight, her expression faltering at the grave look he held as he approached her. Mutely he held out a scroll of weathered vellum to her and when she took it she could see that the red wax seal was broken but there was still the unmistakable stamp of hand clutching a dagger, her confusion mounting when she unfurled the scroll to see a large sigil of the Baratheon stag at the foot of the letter.

Forcing her eyes away from the hated symbol, Daenerys' gaze darted back up to the top of the scripture and began to read. By the time she was finished her hands were shaking, violet eyes burning and throat tight as Missandei and Grey Worm watched her in concern.

"Missandei," Daenerys' voice was low and cold as she addressed the scribe, "Summon Ser Jorah immediately."

* * *


	14. Betrayal & blood

* * *

Daenerys awaited Jorah in the audience chamber, Missandei by her side with Grey Worm and Barristan several steps down. She felt numb, hands clenched tight upon her lap. Missandei's face was blank but she was standing closer to Daenerys than she usually would for an audience, a subtle show of support which Daenerys sorely needed.

_Perhaps it is all a lie._

But the instant she saw Jorah's face she knew that was a fool's hope. The guilt was wrought on his face the moment he approached her, to await at the bottom of the stairs as she sat upon her ebony bench.

"Why did the Usurper pardon you?" Daenerys' voice was soft, echoing against the stone walls.

Jorah hesitated, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he clasped his hands behind his back. After a moment he spoke, voice hoarse, "If we could speak alone-"

"No. Speak it to me here. Explain it." 

"Who do you think sent this to Meereen?" Jorah said, a hint of desperation colouring his words, "This is the work of Tywin Lannister, he wants to divide us-"

"This was signed the year we met," Daenerys's voice continued to be soft, barely more than a whisper, "Why were you pardoned? Unless you are saying this document was forged."

A part of her hoped that, that the pardon was just some horrible trick. But alas the Gods were not kind to her.

"No, it was not forged."

Swallowing thickly, Daenerys then asked, "Then why were you pardoned?"

Jorah shifted uneasily in place before eventually admitting, "I spent letters to Varys the Spider, the spy master of Kings Landing."

"What were the contents of these letters."

"Information-"

"What was it?"

"...When Viserys arrived in Pentos. His plan to marry you to Khal Drogo. Your marriage. His death in Vaes Dothrak-"

"Did you tell them I was pregnant?"

"I-"

_"Did you tell them I was pregnant?"_

"Yes."

Daenerys surged to her feet, hands curled into fists as her body began to tremble. She nearly stumbled over her robes as she descended until she was before Jorah, her eyes burning and lips curling into a snarl.

"Then you knew the wine merchant tried to poison me, from your information."

"I saved you-"

"Because you knew he was trying to kill me. You conspired against me, you betrayed me from the very first moment you saw me. You sold my secrets to the man who killed my father and stole my brother's throne and even now you have the audacity to ask for forgiveness?" she was nearly screaming at the end, tears blurring her vision even as Jorah dropped into a kneel, trying to apologize. Daenerys could barely hear his pleas over the roaring in her ears, her body swaying as she tried to keep herself stiff.

_Three treasons will you know._

The dagger felt real in her back. She couldn't even focus on Jorah, bile in her throat.

"Any other I would have executed," she said, voice flat and emotionless, "But I don't even want you in my city, alive or dead. Run back to your masters in Kings Landing, collect that pardon."

Jorah got to his feet, trying to approach her but both Barristan and Grey Worm drew their weapons. It was only Daenerys raising her hand that stopped all three, that stopped Barristan and Grey Worm from cutting Jorah down.

"Don't you ever presume to touch me," Daenerys snarled even as her gaze remained unfocused, "You will have an hour to collect your things and leave Meereen. If you do not leave before then I will have your head thrown into the fighting pits for the lions."

_I'm weak, I'm weak, I'm weak._

She was deaf and blind as Jorah was forced from the audience chamber by her guards, her hands curled into such tight fists her palms were aching. Even when he was gone she felt as if in a daze, struggling to straighten back up. Missandei ended up taking her by the elbow and gently led her from the room.

Daenerys refused any audiences for the rest of the day and sequestered herself away in the terrace garden. She sat within the greenery, staring at nothing and thinking of all the trials Jorah had been by her side with. And how he'd gotten numerous opportunities to reveal his betrayal but had chosen not to. Instead kept silent until her own enemies had to reveal them. Even if it were a trick she couldn't tolerate keeping Jorah with her and barely reacted when Grey Worm delivered the news that Jorah had indeed left Meereen as she ordered.

In a way hurt just as much as the true betrayal, that Jorah had many opportunities to approach her. To explain how he'd been used as a spy and beg her forgiveness. She wondered if she would've forgiven him, most likely she thought. That he would reveal that and lay bare his betrayal. Instead it had to be dragged forth and even then he had tried to defend his actions, when it had led to Rhaego being killed within her. Everything consolidated through that act with the vintner and resulted in her losing her husband and son. Jorah could have told her afterwards, to why he suspected the wine seller but Daenerys had been trusting of him. Of his sincerity in wanting to protect her.

Then the Red Waste, then Qarth and then the campaign following the coast of Slavers Bay. Plenty of time and opportunities for him to reveal the fact he had been a spy. But Jorah had never done so, instead the secret had been pried from him. 

Who else could be a betrayer? Who else was feeding information to her enemies?

When Missandei ventured into the garden some time later she tried to coax Daenerys into eating but she couldn't stomach the sight of food. Instead she slipped off her pearl-studded slippers and walked through the grass to the balcony, leaning against the marble to look out over the city as the setting sun turned the sky apricot. The streets of Meereen had began to glow as the sun slid further behind the horizon as the citizens lit up the torches in preparation for the night. Others were moving, bobbing along to show the patrols of the Brazen Beasts Skahaz installed to help keep the peace.

Ghidorah's anger burned like a sullen coal and his tails were flicking back and forth. She could feel his desire to hunt down and devour Jorah, only her pleas stopping her child from enacting violent retribution when he understood why she'd been in pain. He cared not for the nuance, only that one had harmed his mother even if it were an emotional hurt rather than physical. Even now he was perched at the tip of the Great Pyramid like a hawk, his long wings flexing as he grumbled and hissed. From the balcony below she could still easily see the crimson glints of his eyes in the high distance, gleaming like crimson stars in the rapidly falling darkness.

His anger was seeping into her grief, consolidating into a torrid knot in her stomach that left her on the verge of vomit.

Looking down at the city Daenerys felt a sudden surge of hate and rage; Meereen was not her home and never would be. It was a city of strange people with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars and slaves bound in thick collars, where grace was earned through whoring and the ownership of people, butchery and senseless death was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city and Daenerys could not be a harpy. She was a dragon and was languishing trying to make her leathery wings feathered.

Her war was in Westeros. If she'd just slaughtered every single Master then handed the city over to the people, would they have faired better? She did so in Astapor but the rise of a butcher king and fall of a council that was due to human error, not freeman error. With Yunkai she let the Masters live and they re-enslaved everyone the instant she left. Too much or not enough but she couldn't just leave Meereen, not when she was the only thing stopping the Great Masters from re-enslaving everyone. She was exhausted.

_Fire and blood._

Her House words, the only words with her being the only one left to claim them. Which she should be, should embrace. Instead she was just sitting fat and stupid in a Great Pyramid while the Harpy murdered her people and she tried to placate the ones doing it. While people turned on her, betrayed her or killed her people.

"Your Grace," Missandei's voice was soft. The cooling air made the pale hairs along Daenerys' bare arms stand on end.

"I wonder if there are any houses with red doors down there," Daenerys said, eyes glassy as she gazed at nothing, "But in the night all colours are dark."

"A red door? What house is this?"

Homesickness welled in her gut as she thought back to a gentler time, when Viserys was her beloved brother and the door was red and the tree held lemons. Before her life turned into misery and pain and death. She reached out to grip Missandei's hand, threaded her fingers through the scribe's as she said, "Never lie to me, Missandei. Never betray me."

"Never," Missandei said, voice just as soft. Her tug was gentle as she carefully guided Daenerys back inside and away from the balcony, back into the warmth.

As evening settled, Daenerys decided to join her little khalasar in their dinner after spending the day not eating. Her bloodriders and calvary were still beyond Meereen's walls but should be back within a few days; they'd killed some would-be rioters and had done well to enforce the peace of the country side as the crops began to grow. The khalasar that remained were those who stayed with her since the beginning, even after she freed them before Drogo's pyre and who followed her over the Red Waste, aboard the poison water, to Astapor and Yunkai and then Meereen. She should have no doubt of their loyalty but a part of her, wounded and bleeding from Jorah's betrayal, found herself eyed them suspiciously.

However they welcomed her warmly, touching at her silvery gold hair and the bells woven within. Per custom they ate sitting upon the ground, heaping furs and cushions to soften the stone, and as their khalessi she was offered the best, juiciest cuts first. Horse was still the favourite of the Dothraki. Barristan she'd given leave to train his orphan squires so Strong Belwas was her Queensguard and he immediately accepted her offer for him to eat with her and her khalasar. Missandei was more apprehensive, just she must have noticed how Daenerys was seeking comfort for the knife in the back so after some dithering she gracefully settled next to Daenerys, so she was flanked by the scribe and the pit fighter with her people before her.

It was loud and boisterous, far removed from the chilly affairs of royal dinners. She used her hands to pick up fruits or sweetmeats or to bite at the roasted leg of a horse. Her khalasar were quartered in one of the lower levels of the Great Pyramid, braziers burning and making the stone walls golden as their laughter and voices echoed through the great chamber. The old warriors still kept their weapons and Daenerys noticed that even the women and even the children- who were a lot bigger than she remembered -had knives strapped onto them. She still remembered Qaarth, how her people had rallied around her and ready to fight and die in an instant if need be.

She turned her attention back to the horse leg that the old warrior Malakho had given her. It was a hefty weight, roasted meat marbled with fat and the bone hot in her hands.

"Bite harder," Belwas encouraged her after watching her struggle to gnaw the roasted meat, "Jaws strong, strong enough to bite out throat of a man. Get your teeth in good, both hands hard on the bone and then yank and twist. Big, big vein in soft skin of throat. Seen many bite through and die in the pits, teeth are strong like any beasts."

The hefty pit fighter showed her the right way to rip off the meat, how to twist her neck and shoulders to rip away a large chunk of the flesh. Missandei was a lot more unsure, using nimble fingers to peel away the layers of muscle and nibbling as delicately as a mouse. Belwas ate like a Dothraki and Daenerys wondered if he was ever not hungry. Either way he was a very non-judgemental company so she didn't complain. He was also simple minded enough she had strong doubts he could ever plot against her.

With a belly full of hot meat and surrounded by the boisterous noise of her khalasar, she felt less hollow and numb. Less focused on the betrayal that left a deep sore ache in her chest and after eating her fill she felt herself lapsing into easy discussion with her people.

"Did you not eat a stallion's heart, Khalessi?" one of the children ended up asking her.

Daenerys waved off Lessa, who'd given the child a nasty look, instead saying, "I did. In Vaes Dothrak before the Dosh Khaleen. It was to ensure a strong child and they said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts The World. But it did not come to pass."

The heart had been tough, hot and blood. Strong Belwas had been correct in that a human could bite as fiercely as any hound and piece by piece Daenerys had swallowed down the stallion's heart with its blood staining over her hands and mouth. Her child ate just as savagely, proving all the tales of dragons only eating cooked flesh as false; Ghidorah would rip into meat like a glutton, his fangs far more affective as snapping bone and tearing through sinew. Even now she could occasionally feel the point of the fang around her neck dig into the skin of her collarbone when she leaned over.

"All maegi should be burned," another one of her khalasar said, getting noises of agreement, "Her screams pleased the Great Stallion."

Mirri Maz Durr's screams had also pleased Daenerys and it had led to Ghidorah hatching. Only life would pay for life, the old woman had taught her. A lesson Daenerys had not forgotten.

"I gave her mercy and in return she murdered my son," Daenerys scowled faintly. She also took Jorah into her service and look where that had gotten her.

"Sheep people have weak hearts," Malakho said.

"Fire was a good death for her," another, a woman with copper coloured hair, said, "Much like how that vintner was dragged behind your steed until he was nothing, Khalessi. Ungrateful."

"Even so, it was a valuable lesson," Daenerys said, stuffing a handful of meat in her mouth. When she swallowed it down she grumbled, "It also showed prophecies are less what they seem. The Dosh Khaleen were wrong about my son and the witch cursed me to have no more children."

To her side Missandei shifted slightly and Daenerys realized the scribe did not know of Mirri Maz Durr and what she'd done to Daenerys' son and husband. Of her encounter with the witch.

Ishabi spoke, "But that maegi lied, Khalessi. You have a son and much more fierce than anyone would have known."

Daenerys blinked.

_Fierce as a storm this prince will be._

Was that not what one of the Dosh Khaleen said to her, when Daenerys was told of the prophecy of the Stallion Who Mounts The World after she devoured the heart before them? And Ghidorah breathed storm, not fire. A fitting dragon for her namesake.

"Perhaps," Daenerys allowed.

"When that Yunkai come to the city they will bring you more bells for your hair," another one of the older warriors said to her, "Those harpies are weak and hide behind their walls and bribe away the khals. As if they can march with any might. Rip off their wings."

The rest of the discussion was the khalasar talking about the Yunkai and masters and the ways they were going to die; Dothraki valued strength and her people held contempt for the cowardly attacks of the Sons of the Harpy. It was nice to just let herself be swept up in listening to the conversation, to not be battered with requests and pleas and news of more terrible things as people hounded her about anything and everything. To not worry about the ache in her chest.

 _At least Aegon had Rhaenys and Visenya by his side,_ Daenerys thought, _Some days my crown feels so heavy I fear it will snap my neck. I have none to share my burden. I cannot even trust those closest to me._

A familiar thought and one Daenerys was tired of. When she finally had enough she carefully extracted herself from her khalasar, at least finding some comfort with people who'd been with her from the beginning and hadn't been revealed to be traitors. She could still feel Ghidorah above when she retired to her chambers, his agitation and annoyance near palpable to her like smoke.

She spent nearly an hour tossing and turning in her bed before she gave up the notion of sleep, tossing aside the covers to clad herself in a silken shift. Outside her windows she could see night had fully settled over Meereen, the sky clear and littered with stars and naught a cloud to be seen. There was again the temptation to take to Ghidorah and leave the city and everyone behind.

Ignoring that she instead left her chambers, not bothering to wake Missandei as she descending down the pyramid. The Unsullied who had been guarding her door silently followed her downwards and took their posts at the entry of the gardens as she entered the room. While their training had been repugnant, she found it comforting that obedience was one of their greatest traits; she needn't fear treason from her soldiers who had chosen to follow her.

 _A bath will help soothe me,_ Daenerys thought. 

She padded barefoot through the grass to her terrace pool, shedding her soft white gown before slipping into the scented water. The water felt cool on her skin, raising goosebumps along her limbs. Little fish nibbled at her arms and legs even as she unfurled her braid until her silvery gold hair hung free down her bare back. She closed her eyes and floated upon her back, hands clasped across her belly.

Daenerys drifted in the water, her hair spread around her like silver gold seaweed. Most of the night noise of the city below was barely audible but there were some birds flitting within the garden, their soft chirps echoing through the lush terrace. Daenerys seemed to sink into herself, until she could barely feel the water enveloping her even as her hearing became distant. The water seemed to wash away her hurt, her body relaxing until Daenerys was dozing near sleep.

Then the abrupt rustle of fabric made Daenerys sit up with a splash, her placidity vanishing in an instant. 

"Missandei?" she called.

"She sleeps," a low, calm voice replied. Daenerys twisted around to watch as the figure detached from the shadows of the gardens, clad in dark robes with golden necklaces with a crimson mask obscuring her face.

"Quaithe," Daenerys said, staring at the woman in shock. _How did she pass my guards?_ "Is this another dream?"

Quaithe's response was a blunt, "No."

“Then what are you doing here? How did you get past my guards?” Daenerys asked suspiciously. She was never without guards, even if now they were outside her door. If the maegi had tried to get past then surely she would have heard her? And the woman had come from the inner of the garden, so she had not somehow climbed over the veranda.

“I came another way," Quaithe said, her voice still soft and near a whisper, "Your guards never saw me.”

“If I call for them to come they will kill you.”

“They will swear to you that I am not here.” Quaithe's gaze never once wavered from hers. The shadows seemed to sway and curl around the edges of her cloak.

Daenerys shifted uneasily, hair swirling in the water around her as she finally asked, “Then are you here? Are you here to slew me?”

“No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. Hear me now. The glass candles are burning with the light of storms and stars. You must look beneath the rivers and gold to seek the bitter steel within the waters, but beware the screaming horn and the urge to dance with fellow dragons. To bring the spring you must pass through the red heart of winter."

"Speak plainly," Daenerys said harshly, "You said the same when you came to me after my dragon dream. What do you want of me?"

"To show you the way," she replied, "As we all must and which you are forgetting. Remember who you are just as your dragon knows. The Stormborn and the Stormbringer. Dragons plant no trees and those who speak in ice and live within the dark of the night are searching southward. The white shadows. You must remember who you are as the cold winds are rising, Daenerys Stormborn."

Despite the warm water Daenerys felt her skin ripple with goose pimples, "The man with the blue eyes."

Quaithe said nothing in response but Daenerys knew she had spoken the truth. _Who was that man? Was he even a man at all? And those dead, with the same blue eyes._ She had never forgotten that dragon dream, first when she saw the great form of her child as a beast even larger than the Great Pyramid but then the man who had watched her from the bleeding tree with the crown of ice.

"Who is that person?" Daenerys' voice was hushed.

"The Others. You must learn, as man has forgotten, that the shadows that creep are never without source. Dragons are not the only monsters in this world and are not the only ones who have awoken after centuries of death."

"You speak to me of a myth a sea away," Daenerys said, "How is this not one of your riddles?"

"But I also bring you an opportunity to help show you the way, if you wish it." Quaithe was unperturbed by Daenerys' demand.

"And what opportunity is that?"

Quaithe's eyes seemed to glitter like stars through the slits of her crimson mask as she said, "That there is another dragon in Essos."

* * *


	15. Quest

* * *

Daenerys stared at Quaithe, caught completely off guard by the maegi's comment. For all the reasons Quaithe approached her, this certainly would not have been one Daenerys had expected. It was impossible.

"No, no that can't be right. I am the last Targaryen," Daenerys managed to say after a long stretch of silence, "The Usurper killed my brother, my nephew and niece. My father. My mother died in birth. My brother died in Vaes Dothrak. There are none other, and the dragons are extinct since the Dragonbane except for my child-"

"The one yearning for you was not at Kings Landing nor did he join the rebellion," Quaithe said, her eyes never straying from Daenerys, "Most forgot he was even alive."

"Who..." Daenerys swallowed, emotions thick in her throat and stomach as she managed to ask, "Who is he?"

"His name is Aemon Targaryen. He was the third son of Prince Maekar Targaryen and his wife, Lady Dyanna Dayne. But he gave that up decades ago, chose a maester's chains, chose the Wall instead. He is now over a century of age and his name has faded from most memories of men."

Daenerys felt herself trembling, the water rippling around her as she tried to absorb the news of a fellow Targaryen. Ever since Viserys died she'd been truly alone, the last dragon in the world. But now there was another, another trying to reach her.

"Why is he coming to me? Why has he left the Wall?" Daenerys asked.

"Aemon Targaryen has travelled from Castle Black of Westeros to Braavos, at the command of the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch," Quaithe told her, the shadows bending and flexing around her, "The Wall kept him living, the magic there ancient and strong, and without it he wanes and had begun to fade. The damp has sunken within his lungs and he now lies dying. He cannot fight time. He will last two days, perhaps one week, but no more. I could not sense him a world away but your dragon is like a lightning rod, the magic strongest closest to him. I have felt your dreaming and now I have felt his but it is sickness and languishing. He will die soon, which he laments. His duty is strong enough he will continue to the journey to Oldtown but will perish at sea."

"Then what good does that me?" Daenerys angrily said. How dare the maegi come to her with such news, only to say Aemon will die in a few days? Of one of her blood a continent away?

"He will die before _he_ can reach you, but not for you to reach him if you move post haste," Quaithe said, "Dragons move swifter than anything else, even the wind, you could reach him in time."

Daenerys heaved herself out of the bath, uncaring of her nudity as she demanded, "Where is he then? Where in Braavos? Who is he with?"

"Aemon is languishing in Braavos, with one of the Nights Watch, a wilding woman and a babe of the free-folk king. They will be situated in lodgings at the docks and intend to use the swan ship _Cinnamon Wind_ to seek passage to Oldtown. Aemon will die on this journey when they depart in two days. His age is too strong."

Daenerys was indecisive even as she continued to tremble, water dripping from her bare skin. A chance to meet another Targaryen, when she'd spent so long thinking she was alone in the world...

But to do so would leave Meereen undefended. She knew the slaver ships hadn't come closer to the walls out of fear of her child. If she took him to Braavos it would not take long for them to notice. Then again, they'd been taking preparations for the siege regardless, since it was inevitable the masters would march upon Meereen. It will take some time for them to get there from Astapor, especially if many were still wounded from the fighting there. Ghidorah was fast and strong, she could still remember how the winds had bent to his whim when they'd flown in the storm. She could be to Braavos in a day, perhaps, if Ghidorah flew as fast as he could. If she left now.

"I cannot simply fly into a Essosi city-"

"Braavos is a city founded by escaped slaves of Valyria, their first vow is that none shall be a slave within their city's walls became their first law. They look favourably upon the Breaker of Chains," Quaithe said, ignoring Daenerys' mental struggle, "They will not stop you from reaching Aemon and you needn't fear harm within their boundaries."

Daenerys swallowed, remembering the house with the red door and the lemon tree. It was the closest home she'd known, that small house in Braavos. Perhaps it was a sign, that the last of her family now awaited her within that city.

"This could be a trick then," Daenerys pointed at the maegi, "A trick to lure me away from Meereen and to leave it undefended."

"If you doubt me, ask your Queensguard Ser Barristan. He will remember Aemon Targaryen, if none else will. He will know of who I speak. Ask him of this man. And Meereen will take weeks to break and you have known for much time the Masters intend to strike at you."

She faltered because that was true. She'd known of Yunkai and their preparations and it would be inevitable they would attack Meereen. So she tried a different track.

"Why are you even telling me this? Why would you give me such information? What do you want?"

Quaithe's eyes seem to glitter like stars through the slits of her mask as she said, "To show you the way. Ask Aemon, ask him about what he has seen beyond the Wall, ask him what he has seen in the land of forever winter in his decades of vigilance, ask him about your dragon dream. Ask him so you may do what you must. Ask him Daenerys Stormborn, ask him about the winter and those with blue eyes. Ask him so you may do what you must."

"Your Grace?"

Daenerys twitched, looking over towards the door of the gardens to see Missandei approaching her. Then when she looked back to Quaithe but the woman was gone as if she'd vanished into the wind.

She swayed, letting a worried Missandei towel her down before carefully helping Daenerys into her sleeping shift while ignoring the scribe's gentle questions.

_Was the woman real? Is what she said true? And if Aemon is alive and from the Wall...does he know of the blue eyed dead?_

There was a chance it was a lie, a trick. But if it wasn't? Daenerys wasn't sure. No, that wasn't true. A part of Daenerys hoped it was a lie, just some fever dream. Because of the malice she'd sensed from the dead in her dreams, of those wet staring eyes within skinless skulls and the man with the crown of ice.

"Missandei," Daenerys' voice was a soft whisper, "Summon Ser Barristan and Grey Worm to me immediately."

* * *

Despite the late hour Barristan answered her quickly, clad in his white and gold armour and leaving Daenerys believing the man hadn't even been asleep. Grey Worm was not too far behind; if Barristan vindicated the maegi's words then the Unsullied commander needed to be there for her. She ignored Missandei's suggestion to dress, instead settling down at one of the tables in the terrace garden in her sleeping shift while her handmaiden stood close.

While waiting for the two men she reached out with her mind to Ghidorah who immediately stirred to full awareness with her probing. She shared her encounter with Quaithe with her child. While Ghidorah didn't understand the nuance of some points of their conversation, he understood the general tone. The idea of a fellow living Targaryen intrigued him and before she even asked she could feel his eagerness to head towards Braavos. He knew the stars, he knew the way, and his wings were strong. He wished to follow this, to see if there was another dragon especially after being raised with Daenerys telling him about their family. He would not have to be convinced if Barristan collaborated with Quaithe's words.

"My apologies for disturbing you both at such a late hour," Daenerys said when both Grey Worm and Barristan before her. She reassured them there was no danger before she directly asked the knight, "Ser Barristan, I must ask you; in your years at Kings Landing have you heard of a man called Aemon Targaryen?"

He looked completely confused by the request, abrupt and at such a late and graceless hour, but nonetheless answered her, "Somewhat, Your Grace. He was the third son of King Maekar I Targaryen but from what little I remember he was a Targaryen who served at the Wall. He was sent at the same time as Brynden Rivers. He would have been your great great uncle, Your Grace."

_So it is true..._

Daenerys swallowed past a thick knot of emotions, saying, "Do you know if he is alive?"

"I cannot say. He would be past a century of age so more likely than not he perished at the Wall many years past, Your Grace."

"I believe he is currently in Braavos," Daenerys said quietly, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her shift, "Sent from the Wall as the maester to travel to Oldtown. He will die there, in scant days. And I must...I must go to him."

Grey Worm and Missandei looked curious while Barristan's expression was more controlled. Either way she still expected Barristan's protest, "Your Grace, it is far too dangerous to cross Essos from Meereen to Braavos. If you intend to leave Meereen fully-"

"I do not intend to leave," Daenerys said, "Not my army, anyway. I only intend for myself and Ghidorah to go to Braavos."

"It may be swift," Missandei said cautiously, "But why would you chose such a course, my queen? Your child would protect you indeed but if you do know of this Aemon, perhaps it is a trick of your enemies. Of the masters to slay you while alone. Ghidorah may be fierce but he is one dragon. It may well be a trap."

"Do any of you know of Daenys the Dreamer?" she asked all three and got three shakes of their heads. Even Barristan.

Her wound from Jorah was still raw but Daenerys knew she had to do this. Faithful hearts that they were, she knew truly of both Grey Worm and Missandei. Barristan perhaps she was unsure but the man's honour was never ever in doubt. Not even from his enemies.

"Daenys was the one who saved my family, back before the Doom of Valyria," Daenerys said, "She saw the Doom, she saw the destruction in a powerful prophetic dream. She warned her father who heeded her visions and because of this the Targaryens and their dragons escaped the Doom which killed all other dragonriders. These became known as dragon dreams to my family, a legacy from our Old Valyrian blood. I have seen many strange things in my time as Essos but further more I have had one of these dreams. It tells me of a great terror which lies in Westeros, which is why the Wall was built. If Aemon is in Braavos I must speak to him, I must ask him what he has seen at the Wall. If my dream speaks truth. And if it does it means there is a threat lurking that may cause chaos across all peoples, a threat beyond anything the masters believe themselves capable of. A Doom that would envelop everyone. I must go to him. I must ask him. And I must ask you three to remain steadfast in Meereen to protect it while I am gone to him."

She held herself stiff and waiting as she let the three absorb her words. If she was to leave, and while she was loathe to, she needed them to be her pillars until she could return. Yunkai hungered for war but they would have to march from Astapor which they'd just sacked to reach her and that would take them time. If what the maegi said was true, then she had to verify with Aemon. Not just to meet the last of her family but to ask him about her dragon dream and what it might tell.

"If that is what my queen commands, then this one will obey," Grey Worm spoke first, a fist pressed firmly against his chest.

Missandei inclined her head, bushy curls swaying with the movement, "I will help safeguard Meereen in your absence, Your Grace. You would not do such a thing unless you knew it was of great importance."

Barristan looked troubled, his wrinkled features frowning but he spoke, "I am simply a knight. I cannot speak of magic or prophecies or dreams. You come from a house of dragons, Your Grace. If you believe this is your course of action then I will do as you command."

Her eyes stung at the faith the three had in her; Daenerys knew she spoke of strange things, but Grey Worm, Missandei and Barristan trusted her enough as a ruler and a queen to accept her explanation. None tried to argue with her, protested or ridiculed her decisions. Instead they accepted her words.

 _I am no longer that crying girl sold for an army, lost and weak,_ Daenerys thought, _If what Quaithe said is true then I must be stronger than any other, to seek out those blue-eyed dead, to seek out a dying dragon to ask him what he has seen. I am the blood of dragons._

"I must prepare," Daenerys stood up, her shift rustling with the movement, "The sooner I leave for Braavos, the better. Especially as it is now night and I can slip away without undue fuss. Ghidorah can fly me swift and true but the masters and their spies will most likely know with the departure. Do not go public with my quest and do not tell Reznak or Skahaz of my true intentions. I do not trust them, not while the harpy lurks. Continue preparations for the upcoming siege."

Due to the late hour it was quiet as Daenerys issued her orders. Missandei helped her change, into a dark assemble with red accents much like her Dothraki garb with durability and comfort in mind over wealth. It covered her fully except for her head, as Daenerys knew it would be a long journey even with Ghidorah's speed. The dark fabric was sturdy but flexible and there were gold and silver chains for her shoulders and delicate embroidery across the breast. A short cloak of red hung from her shoulders, cinched in silver dragon heads and covered the pack tied to her back. Her hair was pulled back in a tight single braid, bells threaded through. Her boots were more fit for a marching soldier than a queen and gloves of thick leather were for her hands.

Inside the pack were food intended for armies, salted meats and dried jerky. She had no use for delicacies and upon Ghidorah's back her carry-ons had to be durable. Missandei also tucked in a pouch heavy with golden coins and precious jewels and Daenerys was rapidly growing more impatient even with the speed she was being prepared in her chambers at the top of the Great Pyramid. Ghidorah occasionally stuck one of his long necks down so he could peer through the windows, impatient to leave and his curiosity burning at her. The sky above was dark, in the pitch of deepest night, but free of clouds so the bare stars sparkled and shimmered high above. Across Meereen it was mostly tinted shadows beyond the scattered lit torches.

"You don't approve?" she asked Barristan as she tied a waterskin to her hip. The knight still had a pinched look upon his face.

"I do not approve of you being unguarded," he replied which was a fair point. Ghidorah would accept no other upon his back, not even as passengers, so there was no point in her even entertaining it.

"I will have my child with me and I will not stray from him," Daenerys said. Even now she could sense Ghidorah's budding excitement, fully rested and ready for the upcoming flight.

Missandei finished with the straps across her chest, stepping away with a quiet, "You are ready, Your Grace. I hope you find what you seek."

"Fly swift and return true, my queen," Grey Worm said.

"Return whole," Barristan added.

Daenerys looked at the three in turn; she was trusting them, after being betrayed by her oldest and dearest friend, but she had no choice. Those who trusted none were as foolish as those who trusted all.

"I leave Meereen in your care," Daenerys said, "Keep them safe from the masters, safe from the harpy, and I will return with any answers I gain."

North west was where Braavos was, tight along the coast she knew. It would be the closest she had been to Westeros since she lived in the house with the red door. But now she had two goals in mind- to seek out Aemon and then to learn the truth of what lurked beyond the Wall. Of the pale shadows, of those 'Others' Quaithe spoke of. Her child had to fly faster than ever before so she may learn what her dream meant and before the masters could act. They also had the advantage of it being dark, thick in the night so it would be many more hours before any knew of her disappearance.

She stepped out onto the balcony, her clothing supple and easy to move in with her goodbyes already said. Ghidorah's three heads were lowered down within reach, red eyes bright and eager. His scales seemed more silver than gold in the darkness of night, the moon barely more than a slice. Meereen was a sprawling city, many thousands of lives living within the wall and she had promised to protect them. Promised the freemen who followed her from Astapor and Yunkai she would protect them. And now she was leaving.

_If I look back I am lost._

Hardening her heart Daenerys reached up for her child and, much like the night of the storm, he carefully picked her up with his mouths with Daenerys gripping onto a long horn as he gently lifted her up onto his back. She knew the stars from her long travels through the Dothraki Sea and knew which ones to follow to reach Braavos as did her child. And she knew Braavos was well known for their great statue of the Titan which guarded entry. They would not be lost finding it.

There was no time to waste so the moment Daenerys settled herself down fully upon Ghidorah's back did he flare out his great wings. With a noise like thunder he swept them down and they were airborne, rapidly climbing in altitude as he angled his wings towards the sparkling set of stars awaiting their destination. Quickly Meereen began to fade behind them until it looked no bigger than a sand castle and the painted mountains began to grow to the fore even as Ghidorah continued to climb up the sky with the bells ringing in Daenerys' hair with the speed of his wings.

No sooner did the two disappear over the peak of the distant mountains did a rider appear to the far south of the Harpy's city, bloodied and dying atop a pale mare.

* * *


	16. BRAAVOS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghidorah is [Westeros Drogon](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fa767453f137774890505109f2a360de/tumblr_ovu059Vw2B1tja9y3o3_540.gifv) size   
>  Lol but remember when D&D had Cersei say the Iron Bank had invested heavily in the slave trade, despite Braavos being founded by escaped slaves, have a city where the very first law is that none shall be a slave, and that they refuse to trade with the slaver cities? They'd be totally on the side of the Breaker of Chains, along with being _very_ aware how dangerous dragons really are, but Dumb and Dumbass just didn't even care at the end 

* * *

The city of Braavos was all waterfront. To the north was the Purple Harbor where Braavosi traders were tied up beneath the domes and towers of the Sealord's Palace. To the west lay the Ragman's Harbor which was thick with ships from the other Free Cities, from Westeros and Ibben and the fabled, far-off lands of the east and south of Essos. And everywhere else were little piers and ferry berths and old grey wharves where shrimpers and crabbers and fisherfolk moored after working the mudflats and river mouths and jagged reefs, selling an immense array of exotic fish and ocean creatures.

"We can't go to the docks. It would be too great a strain on you."

"Then go in my stead and bring me someone who has seen the dragons."

Sam sighed, "Maester, it was only a story. A sailor's story. They talk of all manner of things if they think it'll give them a free meal or a pint of ale."

The ship voyage from the Wall had been arduous, the ocean gales constantly chasing them across the narrow sea with sometimes the ship itself freezing over as if encased in crystal and the persistent chill had settled deep within Aemon's lungs. The inn room they were in was cold, the hearth lacking any wood. Wood was so expensive in Braavos, the isle a beacon of trade and trees stripped and long gone to make way for the great stretching docks and bustling markets. Their bag of silver was now all but empty with Sam barely affording a healer from the House of the Red Hands to see to Aemon and even then the man's only advice was to make Aemon comfortable. 

_'Ointments I have, potions and infusions and salves, tinctures and venoms and poultices. But no leech or potion can make him young again. This is an old man and death is sitting heavy in his lungs. Give him this flask of dreamwine and let him sleep. That is all that is left for him,' the healer had told Sam but not unkindly,_

Sam had tried, despite the healer's words but Aemon steadily grew weaker as time passed. He couldn't understand it, Aemon had been of that age upon the Wall and had remained alive and with his wits. Now he would mumble in his sleep or would mistake Sam for Egg, asking him nonsensical questions or waking up confused at how he could see nothing. Gilly had watched it occur sadly, hair stringy and form shivering as she clutched her babe close. No, not her son. Rather the son of the King-beyond-the-Wall. He could still scarcely believe Jon had done such a thing despite Aemon telling him Gilly's sobbing during their sea journey was of grief, not fear. That Jon had forced Gilly to abandon her son, to prevent Stannis and his red witch from having another of kings blood to throw into a fire for their red god. Aemon had said it was Lord Snow who made that decision, not Jon, and Sam didn't know what to think of his friend. At knowing Gilly lost her son after everything they'd been through together beyond the Wall only to lose him among the Night's Watch. To lose her son due to Jon.

He pushed that away, instead saying to Aemon, "I don't know enough High Valyrian and I can barely understand Braavosi and not enough to be of use. You speak more tongues than I do, once you are stronger you can-"

"Do what, Sam? When will I be stronger?" Aemon wheezed, his blind eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Soon," Sam said, "You just need to rest and eat. When we reach Oldtown-"

"I shall not see Oldtown again. I know that now. My time is coming swiftly," The old man tightened his grip on Sam's arm, bony fingers biting into the black cloth, "I will be with my brothers soon. Some were bound to me by vows and some by blood, but they were all my brothers just the same. And my father. Well. He never thought the throne would pass to him, and yet it did. He used to say that was his punishment. I can only pray he found the peace in death that he never knew in life. The septons sing of sweet release, of laying down our burdens and voyaging to a far land where we may laugh and love and feast until the end of days but what if there is no land of light and honey? Only cold and dark and pain beyond the wall called death? The Stranger is waiting so close for me I can see the shadow beyond the door."

 _He is afraid,_ Sam realized with a jolt. He hastened to reassure the Maester, "You are not dying. You're ill, that's all. It will pass. You just need food and rest."

Aemon ignored his words, "I have thought for many years why. Why was my sight stolen as with my strength yet I was kept alive, frozen and forgotten? What use does the world have for a blind old man? Oh but I remember, Sam, I remember. Even after all this time."

"Remember what?"

The old man's fingers were gripping him so tightly it was just shy of painful. "Dragons. The grief and glory of my House, they were. Dragons."

"The last dragon died before you were born," Sam said in confusion, "How could you remember them? The skulls at King's Landing?"

"I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red like a smear of blood across the sky. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the boom of those great leathery wings, feel their hot breath that can burn through stone and steel and bone. My brothers dreamed of dragons too and the dreams killed them too, every last one of them. Sam, we tremble on the cusp of half-remembered prophecies, of wonders and terrors that no man now living could hope to comprehend...or..."

"Or?" said Sam.

"Or perhaps not," Aemon chuckled softly, expression more of a grimace in his wrinkled face, "Or I am an old man, feverish and dying." He closed his white eyes wearily, then forced them open once again to stare at nothing. "I should not have left the Wall. Lord Snow could not have known but I should have seen it. Fire consumes but cold preserves. The Wall was what kept me standing, even after a hundred years, but it is too late to go running back to its frozen embrace. The Stranger waits outside my door and will not be denied, no matter how patient they have been for me over the decades. Steward, you have served me faithfully. Do this one last brave thing for me. My last request. Go down to the ships, Sam. Learn all you can about these dragons and bring it back to me."

"I will. If you want." Sam would not deny Aemon a final request, he could not refuse him. Even now with Aemon slipping back into a restless sleep Sam rose from the bedside. He could look for Dareon as well, his fellow Night's Watch member, along the docks and wharves of the Ragman's Harbor. Dareon had left to sing for coin and bolster the Night's Watch in the hope to grow support for the Wall and garner new recruits. Sam had to find Dareon first and then they could go to the ports together and then hopefully return with news, food, wine and wood. Start the empty hearth and have a hot meal which would do a world of good for both Aemon and Gilly.

He strapped his short sword to his belt and swept his black cloak across his shoulders while saying, "Gilly, bar the door when I am gone." 

She nodded, her eyes bright with tears and Sam found himself almost rushing from the room before she began to sob. The hairs on the nape of his neck were on end as he passed through the doorway, half expecting a shade of the Stranger to be lurking across the threshold.

Sam made his way through the winding alleys, thick with cats and shadows. Braavos had an abundance of cats to the point Sam nearly tripped over the furred beasts each time he took a step. Others would just watch him from steps and rafters and walls, glowing eyes blinking slowly as he blundered past.

 _I need to find Dareon,_ he thought, tugging his belt back up his waist, _He is a man of the Night's Watch, my Sworn Brother; he and I will puzzle out what to do. Maester Aemon's strength was gone, and Gilly would have been lost here even if she had not been grief-stricken, but Dareon hasn't returned for some time. He could be hurt, perhaps that is why he did not come back. He could be dead, a knife in the throat or floating in one of the canals to be nibbled upon by the fish. Dareon had a loose tongue and quick temper especially when he'd been drinking. Just because a man can sing about battles doesn't mean he's fit to fight one, as he'd been sent to the Wall through his rash actions in bedding the daughter of the lord of Goldengrove._

The best alehouses, inns, and brothels were near the Purple Harbor or the Moon Pool but Sam knew that Dareon preferred the Ragman's Harbor where the patrons were more apt to speak the Common Tongue. Sam worked his way through the inns and even asked the poleman watching over the serpent boats if they had seen a singer in black but to no avail. He even began to try the brothels but there was still no answer.

However when he was leaving the latest brothel, one called the Cattery, he got confronted by two Braavosi beneath the red lamp outside. One thing he quickly noticed was how the lords and peasants dressed in comparison to Westeros; in Kings Landing the lords and ladies wore velvets and silks in a prism of colours while the commoners were more drab and of raw wool. In Braavos it was the opposite, with the nobles wearing charcoal grey and purple, blues that were almost black and blacks as dark as a moonless night.

Sam did not understand Braavosi and begged their pardon to move pass to continue his search, only for one of the men to switch to the Common Tongue to relay his friends insults. Sam had heard worse from his father but the men were tipsy and looking for a fight. Sam had his sword but he took pains not to touch it. To do so would incite a fight which Sam didn't trust himself in.

"Oi, he's one of the Night's Watch stupid," a childish voice said and all three turned to see a scragged urchin appear, pushing a barrow full of seaweed and shells. She was a slip of a thing, narrow and almost wild with her short brown hair falling over grey eyes as she scowled at the two drunkards before focusing on Sam, "There's another singing to the Sailor's Wife down at the Happy Port. If theys ask who's the most beautiful woman in the word say Nightingale or they won't let you in. How's 'bout you, want to buy some clams?"

He was confused but welcomed the distraction, lamenting, "I have no coin."

A mocking scoff from one of the nobles, "No coin he says. Hey, be a good fat friend and give that there cloak to Terro here. He's chilly."

"Don't do as they say," the scraggy girl told Sam, "Else they be asking for your boots next and before long you'll be naked."

"Little cats who screech too loud get drowned in the canals here," scowled the other noble.

"Not if they have claws to cut your belly open." And suddenly there was the glint of a knife in the girl's left hand, a blade as skinny as she was but held easy in her fingers. The one called Terro grumbled something to his fair-haired friend and the two of them moved off, chuckling and scoffing at one another.

"Thank you," Sam told the girl when the two drunks were gone.

She tucked her knife away, "Shouldn't be wearing a sword at night, they take it as a challenge. Did you want the fight?"

His voice squeaked embarrassingly as he said, "No."

"Are you truly in the Night's Watch? I never saw a black brother like you before here in Braavos." She squinted at him with a suspicious grey gaze before she gestured at the barrow. "You can have the last clams if you want. It's dark so no one will buy them now. Are you sailing to the Wall?"

"I'm headed to Oldtown." Sam scanned the barrow before taking one of the baked clams and wolfed it down in a single bite. "We're between ships. Who are you?"

"No one." The girl stank of fish and salt water, "I used to be someone but now I'm not. You can call me Cat, if you like a name. Who might you be?" 

"Samwell, of House Tarly," he told her. The name of Cat fit the girl, as she was lean and mean much like the furred felines lurking all over Braavos, "You speak the Common Tongue."

"My father was the oarmaster on Nymeria," Cat explained, voice easy and calm, "Got himself gutted for saying mother is more beautiful than the Nightingale. Not one of those camel cunts you met, what I'm meaning is a real bravo. Someday I'll slit his throat and roll out his body for the crabs. The captain said Nymeria had no need of little girls so he put me off. Brusco took me in and gave me a barrow." She looked up at him. "What ship will you be sailing on?"

"We bought passage on the Lady Ushanora."

There was that squint again, "She's gone, gone long days past. Don't you know? She left days and days ago."

Which Sam did indeed know. He and Dareon had watched the ship sail from the docks and through the Titan's legs to the sea beyond. The captain had enough waiting for Aemon to recover his strength and Sam lost all the coin used for the finest cabin aboard the ship as the captain also refused to hand it back. However that misery was his own and he had a fellow brother to find.

"You said before you saw another black cloak," Sam said to her, "Where was this?"

"At the Happy Port. He's going to wed the Sailor's Wife as men do," Cat shrugged her bony shoulders.

"Wed?"

"She only beds the ones who marry her."

"Where is this Happy Port?"

"Across from the Mummer's Ship. I can show you the way if you need."

"I know the way." Sam had seen the Mummer's Ship and knew where it was. Dareon couldn't be doing such a thing, they'd taken their vows before a heart tree when they had become ready to take the black.

But when he reached the Happy Port indeed Dareon, a sworn member of the Night's Watch, had married a whore and even had her clad in his cloak and nothing else. Despite Sam's attempts to bring him back, asking for his help in finding the stories of the dragons among the ports, Daeron refused to return and fully spurned his vows, casting off his duty to the Wall and rejecting all he knew.

So Sam punched him.

The fight was short-lived before he was thrown from the brothel but Sam had left Dareon bloodied before he slammed into the black water of the canal outside and nearly drowned. When a stranger fished him out, skin the colour of pitch and a cloak of sodden feathers cast over his shoulders, Sam was half drowned and vomiting water.

The man was tall and broad and of the Summer Isles but still amused by Sam's near drowning, saying, "Fat men should float, not flail and splash. Now you ruined Xhondo's cloak."

Sam coughed and retched, casting a glance towards the brothel he'd been thrown from but knew there was no going back for Dareon and his breaking of vows. He'd seen it before and had no use for more fighting.

Xhondo grabbed Sam and effortlessly heaved him to his feet, the Summer Islander saying cheerfully, "Xhondo mates on Cinnamon Wind, ship down to the ports. Many tongues he speaks, a little. Inside Xhondo laughs to see you punch the prancing singer. And Xhondo hears many whispers in Braavos." A broad white smile spread across his face as he leaned down into Sam's face, "Xhondo knows these dragons."

* * *

The Cinnamon Wind was a swan ship out of Tall Trees Town on the Summer Isles, with sails of cream and a lively crew. Quhuru Mo was the captain of the vessel, who spoke not a lick of the Common Tongue so Xhondo had to act as a translator for. While they bargained for accommodation Sam, Gilly and Aemon were in one of the cramped halfway houses upon the docks where the Cinnamon Wind was. Sam had had to carry Aemon there upon Xhondo's offer, the man too weak and feverish to even stir when carried. Gilly did not ask about Dareon which Sam was grateful for, as the fight the night before with someone who had been a sworn brother still stung.

Now it was the morning after, the sky clear while the air was moist and warm and dead calm, with Sam outside the small halfway cabin with Gilly keeping watch over Aemon. The old man was asleep once again and Sam worried over his waxen skin and sunken eyes. Even the rising warmth of the day did little to change the slumbering man's disposition, the cabin by the docks far warmer than their previous accommodations even if it absolutely reeked of the sea and rotting fish guts.

He had hoped the meeting with Xhondo would reinvigorate the old man; the Summer Islanders revered the elderly and the hulking stranger treated Aemon respectfully while telling him of the tales of dragons. It seemed to be now a fact, not simple rumour, that this Daenerys Targaryen possessed a dragon. That she was the mother of those creatures, reborn after near two centuries of extinction, and soon many will remember how Aegon the Conqueror came to be. That night when Xhondo left Aemon had eaten all food before him even if his words were still weak and skin parchment thin.

"We were wrong, Sam," the man had said while settling back into the blankets, veined fingers clutching at the sheets, "It was a prince that was promised they all said, not a princess. Rhaegar, oh Rhaegar...I believed that the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, that the salt was from the tears shed for those who died in the blaze. He shared my belief when he was young as he told me through those letters, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who would fulfil the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived and so Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet that told of the birth. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise and without error. We forgot the true translation of Valyrian. Dragons are neither male nor female but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years and we were all so sure. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." 

Just talking of her seemed to make Aemon stronger, his blind eyes bright in a way Sam hadn't seen since they left the Wall as the old man rasped, "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger."

When he had fallen asleep it had been deep, not troubled like his previous feverish slumbers but Sam still worried. The lament for his great grand niece was strong and Sam had to wonder if even half the tales about her were true. A woman of silver gold hair and eyes like amethysts, true Valyrian blooded with dragons with one of which had golden scales. Sam didn't believe the wild rumours of one being three headed, instead knowing the dragon queen had three of them. The biggest was probably golden. Even so after hearing the tales from Xhondo Sam still found most of the stories far-fetched. He had not seen the skulls in King's Landing, the only remains of the Targaryens bloody legacy and even held the bones of Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon's own monstrous steed. He had to wonder if this Daenerys would come for Westeros as her ancestor had done centuries ago, with a creature like Balerion.

The widow of a Dothraki khal, who lost a brother and a son to become a mother of dragons and then turned into a sacker of cities who slaughtered the slavers of Old Ghis as easily as one would crush ants. Aegon the Conqueror with teats, they called her. 

Perhaps it would be best if she stayed in Meereen. Monsters of fire or monsters of ice, Sam had to think upon which would be worse and even then he was left unsure.

_A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing._

Sam remembered Aemon's words, which seemed like a lifetime ago at the Wall. When they first heard of Daenerys Stormborn, after years of most thinking the last Targaryens had died in Essos or been lost. But instead she returned with dragons, with an army, and began to tear asunder the slave masters. Even now in Braavos, Meereen was beyond their reach, was beyond Aemon. Essos was a massive slab of land, making Westeros seem middling in comparison. Meereen might as well be an entire world away.

Even then back at Castle Black Aemon had lamented after Sam had read the deeds to him, at how far away he was from her. Dying at the edge of the world while Daenerys was surrounded by enemies and without family to guide her. And now he was truly dying in a port despite all attempts to nurse him back to health. Sam just had to hope the man could stay until they reached Oldtown. The healers of the Citadel were the best in the world, they could help the ailing man when no one else could.

As the sun rose Sam found himself talking to Quhuru Mo at the docks some more before reluctantly drawing back to the halfway house. He could easily see the Cinnamon Wind even as he sat down upon some crates as the port bustled with activity. There was also Kojja Mo standing on deck of the swan ship who was the captain's daughter, a woman as fierce as Val and taller than Sam. She was in command of the red archer's upon the ship, as it was explained pirates were still a fairly persistent bunch and walked with one of the great longbows strapped to her back. Once the captain had asked for Aemon's maester chains, made of Valyrian steel which would cover the full cost and more, but Sam refused. Even if Aemon perished Sam would not sell the chain links. His sword and scabbard Sam had already given to Xhondo, as repayment for fishing him from the canal and the ruined cloak. One more day, he was told, before the ship would sail after restocking its hold.

All he had left was the clothes upon his back and the valuable books taken from Castle Black. Sam did not like the idea but it was all he could think to barter passage as the deadline drew near. They were bound for the Citadel but unless Sam could leave Braavos then all he, Aemon and Gilly could do was rot like the fish.

Sam sighed, the air around him warm and making him sweat in his blacks. The port was thick with activity and he spent some time simply watching the workers bustle back and forth; some ships were gigantic, almost like sea bound villages with how many crew they supported while others were nimble and fast with only a handful of sailors. Some carried goods such as great beams of wood and steel for construction, others with a plethora of exotic silks and fabrics, others carried gold and jewels and half forgotten relics, others had strange animals such as black striped horses or dog sized lizards. The people were also of a great variety in size shape and colour, more than Sam had ever seen in Westeros. It was as if Braavos was a stop for the world to come and bargain their goods. 

He was chewing away on a tasteless piece of jerky as he watched a fishing vessel head in towards the docks, sails flaccid and oars flailing. A great flock of seagulls followed close behind, waiting for the ship to stop so they could snap and scream over the discarded fish guts when the crew would clean their haul. However even as Sam watched the flock of gulls abruptly flared and wheeled away from the docks, heading back out towards the sea as fast as their wings could carry them. He frowned, swallowing down the last strip of meat even as he noticed the other sea birds, which had been either circling the ships or screeching along the docks and vessels, take off and head out towards the distant Titan and away from Braavos. More and more flew past overhead, all heading away from the city. 

Sam wasn't the only one to notice how the birds suddenly seemed to flee, a weird prickle running up his spine. The cats scattered about also began to move, backs arched into bristles before they sped away to the shadows. The abrupt lack of animals on the docks was strange and Sam noticed how several sailors were pointing southward, over the tops of the lumpy city of Braavos before many began to call out to one another while crawling over the ships.

It was only when one of the closer vessels shouted in the Common Tongue, "Storm! Storm incoming!" did he realize what they were preparing for. 

In quick succession many of the docked vessels had their sails rolled up and secured even as Sam saw flags snap sharply as a strong wind suddenly billowed up. He grunted, swaying slightly on the crates at the abrupt southbound wind that began to tug at his cloak. Standing up, Sam craned his neck around, stepping further out towards the docks until he was several feet from the sea. Now he could see over the sprawling houses and buildings littering the great isle and the blacked clouds rapidly heading towards them. Flashes of gold occasionally lit up the swelling stormfront and he heard the distant rumble of thunder closing in on them.

If there was one thing he was sick of, it was the ocean storms. At the Wall it was so high that top the storms couldn't even pass over. Instead they could simply look over the Wall and see all the clouds below. Frozen but untouched by the wild winds and rain.

Though, oddly enough, even when the storm came closer there wasn't any rain. Just the whistle of the wind and the increasing roar of thunder while the surrounding sea began to churn. The clouds stretched out overhead, coiling and pulsating until they reached even the great Titan of Braavos in the distance, swallowing its raised arm in the blackened clouds.

Many of the sailors were running back and forth and Sam got violently shoved and knocked around when he didn't move out of the way quickly enough. Many were rushing with their wares, wanting to get them to warehouses or stores before the rain came for them. Most of the yelling began to grow distant and Sam could even see the crew of the Cinnamon Wind finishing tying down the sails and checking the heavy dock lines securing the vessel to port.

He was about to go back to the little halfway house when more thunder sounded. But this time there was something...off.

It took him several moments to realize the dull _boom_ was too rhythmic and didn't seem to coincide with the flashes of golden lightning which was getting closer and closer, even he could even see forks of it striking out in the bay. The brilliant flashes made him flinch, raising a hand to shield his eyes even as the odd steady thuds were growing closer and closer. The wind grew more fierce, whipping at his cloak and tearing at the sails while making people stumble as they hurried too and fro. Several jagged lightning rods along the docks lit up as the forks of the brilliant light lanced down to meet them with sharp chimes and sparks.

He made it several steps towards the cabin when he heard a weird warbling noise, something that made all the hairs on his nape stand on end while freezing him in place as it reverberated through the air around him. Numerous others also stopped, almost in unison looking skyward where the strange call was heard.

Silence swept over the dock, the only noise being the swell of the ocean and the rumbling thunder as the storm fully closed around Braavos, as if everyone was frozen from the eerie noise.

Then someone screamed.

Sam's head snapped around towards the noise, seeing a sailor in a crows nest in one of the moored ships. They were pointing up towards the billowing clouds, screaming something in a language Sam didn't understand. He followed the direction they were pointing,as did nearly everyone else on the docks, up and up and up towards the roiling storm swallowing them and then-

A flash of golden lightning lit up the clouds and illuminated a great silhouette within the storm, something with great spiked wings flared out wide in mid-flight and three immense necks like a mythical serpent of the deep. The jagged shapes of horns, shadowy spines flaring up from its back with more littering the clubbed tips of its twin tails.

Around him more screams erupted as the paralysis wore off and instead animalistic panic engulfed the docks as people moved, sprinting for the shelter of the city or running for their ships even as the creature's jagged shadow folded its wings and shot down with the speed of a diving falcon, bursting out of the underside of the clouds to reveal shimmering golden scales of a great beast that was the same size of a ship with huge bat-like wings. To reveal a monster thought to be centuries dead but was now plummeting through the air towards him with frightening haste.

Lightning from the storm struck the creature mid-flight but it seemed to lance through its body as if it were part of the storm swallowing Braavos, scales shimmering like molten gold before the lightning lanced out of the tip of its great wings.

Another screeching warble, a noise that made Sam stumble and fall down heavily onto his side as others panicked around him. The great creature continued its downward flight, the sweep of its massive wings reverberating through the air like thunder. Even with it still high above the city Sam could see its numerous eyes glowing a brilliant crimson like distant stars as it rapidly closed the distance with each beat of its wings.

It was a creature Sam had never seen in the flesh before but had seen portraits of, read books about, had heard tales about. A beast thought extinct with naught left but bones abandoned to crypts but now was plummeting through the air towards him even as its chilling screams shook Sam to the bone and kept him pinned like a mouse before a snake. 

_Dragon._

* * *


	17. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  ~~Oh man I am so burnt out from this year ugh~~   
>    
>  Also Ghidorah is still bby at this point, so his 'storm' is more of a very windy storm with scattered rain that's centralized around him like a big cloud. He isn't gonna be able to make horizon-swallowing hurricanes just yet lol

* * *

The storm formed as Ghidorah picked up speed and altitude over the mountain ranges.

The muscles in his wing arms flexed and Daenerys could feel his determination as he began to sharply ascent up the peaks, as the range shifted from scattered grasses and rock to snowy slopes. As he flew up along the curve of the mountains his golden scales began to heat up underneath her, much like that night they flew through the storm. Which was a boon, as Daenerys had begun to feel the bite of the frosty altitude before Ghidorah's scales grew warm as he picked up speed.

When the blackened clouds began to swell the winds began to chase them, propelling Ghidorah along the currents even as his great wings continued to beat. It was a strange phenomena and Daenerys was unsure of what it meant beyond the winds themselves seemingly aiding the two in their journey.

Daenerys gripped Ghidorah's spines tightly, loops of leathers tied strongly around the spikes which were getting as long as her hand. Her body was settled flat along his back, as Daenerys knew it would be a long flight to Braavos. She'd spent enough time in the Great Grass Sea on horseback to know how swiftly ones buttocks would become numb and spine aching when unused to riding. Ghidorah may not be a horse but she hadn't ridden him long enough for her to be confident in spending hours upon him.

So even if it felt uncomfortable, Ghidorah's speed meant she was almost lying prone upon his scales with her hands gripping his spines and chest flat. The wind whipped at her hair and face, making her pale skin rapidly become windburnt but she bore it without complaint.

When Ghidorah soared over the painted mountains she was in awe of the thick snowy caps right at the peak and how the snow swirled around them in a storm. Ghidorah had no such issue and could see without hindrance even with the storm growing and the snow wild and she found herself relying upon his senses as he moved. Pressed as close as she was, it was like that night upon the storm when their visions seemed to meld and even with her eyes clenched shut and forehead pressed against the golden scales of his back as his speed grew so great it made her eyes water, she could see through his eyes in disembodied images like a broken mirror via his three sets of eyes.

The golden dragon's wingbeats were strong and steady as they crested the mountains and Daenerys could feel the way he flexed the wings of his wings from flying to gliding as they continued to head north west. He was conserving his strength for the flight ahead but Daenerys knew her child was strong. They would make it. They must.

_Wait for us, Aemon. We are coming._

Most of the journey Daenerys trusted Ghidorah to know the way, how he knew the stars and they were high enough the air was thin and clouds near nothing beyond the ones chasing Ghidorah's wings. She knew from her own studies of maps that he was following the way and they were holding true for Braavos.

While it was night Ghidorah held no fear of being seen but when they'd flown for so long the sun began to peek over the horizon he flew high enough to be mistake for a bird as they passed over villages and farming fields. High upon Ghidorah's back Daenerys could even see the thick grassy plains of the Dothraki Sea to the east. The grass had towered over them when she had been upon horseback but now upon dragonback she could only see the difference in greenery to show the edge of the wild grasses. Otherwise the land below a quilt of mismatched colours, dips and peaks.

Ghidorah had fed before they'd left Meereen so Daenerys ate upon his back as he flew, gnawing at jerky and sipping from her waterskin as wind whipped at her hair and clothes. Ghidorah paid no mind to her mid-flight meal and through their link she could sense him adjusting position from tracking the stars to now following the rapidly rising sun.

Hours blended against one another as sunlight flooded across Essos but Daenerys paid no mind to her stiff limbs and burning eyes as all she felt was the desire to reach Braavos where her last family member awaited them. Her fingers were cramped and when she removed one from Ghidorah's spines it were if her fingers had turned to rusted metal, resistant to movement and joints grinding. 

Ghidorah shivered from his snouts to his tails, making his scales ripple. Daenerys pressed close against him and she could feel the wordless question pushed to her and she hastened to assure her child she was fine. She had been in much greater pain than cramping joints and with the small storm following them their speed was great and she knew they were getting closer with each beat of Ghidorah's wings. The life of a queen was about sacrifice and peril and Daenerys would bear it just as Ghidorah bore her.

At one point they flew over a ruined city, that of Vaes Khadokh which Ghidorah pointed out to her with a mental probe. The city of corpses, she knew the Dothraki called it. Destroyed during the Century of Blood which had followed the Doom. She had passed the city while a part of Drogo's khalasar, a frightened and dull eyed wife and beaten sister of a mad beggar king. Now she flew over it upon the back of a golden three headed dragon who was her beloved child while she was a queen who'd crushed slaver armies under her heel and would not hesitate to destroy many more. The desolate city now, from their great height, simply looked like a scatter of grey stone kicked asunder by a child's tantrum.

Her child slowed down slightly as they passed over the city, looking no bigger than a hawk if there were anyone looking up below, and Daenerys felt a strange sense of mourning for the long dead city. Then his wings swept down again and they continued northwards.

Daenerys tracked time by the sun and when it reached its zenith the sprawling forest of Qohor began to appear, at first simple scatters of brush until Ghidorah flew closer and closer and the great trees were covered in leaves which shone gold in the sunlight. The woods looked like a huge swathe of gold strewn across the ground far below. Ghidorah spotted the city first with his much greater vision, at the banks of a river and among the golden trees. 

Qohor, the eastern most of the free cities. They were getting closer. 

Which Daenerys was glad for, as she could feel the pangs mimicking her own stiff joints in Ghidorah's wings even if she knew her child would refuse to stop and rest. He was strong and she had faith in him, they would make it to Braavos. She knew it and finding Qohor was the shift from the slaver lands to that of the free cities. It was the half way mark of their journey and a part of her was shocked they'd crossed so much of Essos so swiftly.

They passed by the City of Sorcerers without issue even if a part of Daenerys longed to see the city itself. The words of Quaithe still rang strong in her mind and suddenly she twisted upon Ghidorah's back, spine and neck aching as she looked behind them.

The black clouds chasing them were pulsating around Ghidorah's barbed tails halfway and the wind was pushing _with_ them, not against. Like the storm was actively following them, like smoke spilling behind a lit torch.

_The Stormborn and the Stormbringer._

Was that not what the maegi had called them? Daenerys had thought it for Ghidorah's breath, the lightning he could spit forth from his maw unlike any dragon before him. But now, seeing the clouds following so devoutly and how the wind was helping, not hindering, she had to wonder just what else Quaithe knew.

A dangerous friend indeed and she still could remember the man with blue eyes in her dragon dream. If the maegi spoke true, then a great threat was awaiting them and Aemon would know, Aemon could tell her of what threat it was. Her journey to Braavos was not just due to yearning for family but to ask about the dream. A part of her, which was still so unsure of Quaithe, hoped that perhaps it was a touch of madness not prophecy. To see dead men watching her and what horrors it would mean for them all. About what lurked beyond the Wall.

Then a scaly snout bumped against Daenerys head and she startled, twisting back around to find that Ghidorah's left most head had bent around like a serpent and was nosing her like a concerned mother for her pup. Daenerys pressed her forehead against his scaly snout, stiff fingers twitching from their grip upon his spine. He could sense her emotions and thoughts, both for the storm and the strange dream. He did not understand, not as a human, but he knew when things needed to be done and would do them as he pleased. He would kill those dead men again if need be and Daenerys found comfort in his blunt certainty at the fact.

Daenerys was the blood of dragons just like her child and dragons did not run and hide from their enemies. If there truly were monsters north of the Wall then she would confront them with her child by her side. Is that not what she had said before? Mother of a monster yet if her child was a monster then so was she. Monsters were feared and she knew the Masters feared her, the slaver armies feared her, Westeros feared her. And her child was feared by all.

A forked tongue pressed across her wind and sunburnt cheek, hot and slimy but she accepted his affection before his head pulled away. His wings flexed but otherwise they continued to ride the winds and she could feel his pleasure with the title Quaithe had called him. The Stormbringer.

Norvos was the next city they passed, perched atop the hills and surrounded by numerous walled villages. As they flew by the city even at such a height they could hear the tolling of bells, barely more than akin to pebbles striking one another at such a distance but Daenerys could still hear it high upon Ghidorah's back. She had to wonder what the bells were tolling for as they flew past.

Daenerys ate some salted meat before smearing more bees wax across her cracked lips, spine and fingers aching as she moved in stiff movements. Further north they could see the blue gleam of the ocean, the Shivering Sea where the city of Lorath was. Daenerys thought that perhaps she could see the tiny shape of the city, a speck at the edge of her vision but could not be sure. It was east, too far east, and their goal was the northern most of the free cities.

Ghidorah had slowed down from his starting speed, back when it had just shifted into night. He had flown for so long and Daenerys could feel her own arms burning in sympathy. However even while gliding on the winds chasing them the grassy lands below sped by with frightful ease even as more of the ocean opened before them.

Daenerys felt her heart jump in her chest, her gritty eyes open wide as the city of Braavos rapidly came into view upon the horizon. Hundred of islands roped together by stone bridges, the harbour city surrounded by tall mountainous islands covered in wind breaker trees. The only way to the great city was 'twixt the Titan's legs aboard a ship and the huge bronze and stone statue was visible even at their distance. The statue would most likely be over four hundred feet in height at its head, not even counting its raised arm which held a broken sword above.

Her pain was pushed aside and Ghidorah's own interest surged when they realized they were now at their destination. Ghidorah's wings swept down like thunder, all three of his heads hissing and chattering in excitement. The storm following them seemed to react to their excitement, the clouds spilling past and below as Ghidorah began to descend. They needed to find the Cinnamon Wind, a swan ship. If what Quaithe said was true then the ship would most likely be at the port facing the Titan, ready to depart.

They had to fly over the city but Ghidorah had slowed down as he flew over the barrier islands surrounded Braavos. The storm rushed forward, engulfing them in the darkness as if the sun was never there and leaving her surrounded in pulsating clouds much like that night above Meereen. Ghidorah could see just as well in the dark so she trusted his vision as they soared over the city.

Within the storm she could see Ghidorah's scales shimmer followed the flicker of brilliant gold and then the telltale jolt of lightning even as sparks snapped out of Ghidorah's mouth as his eyes burned crimson in the clouds. They descended even lower, raindrops splattering across her burnt skin but Daenerys bore it without complaint, using her child's eyes to search below. His eyes were sharper than any eagle, seeing the thousands of ships tied to the islands and canals threaded throughout the city. Could see the thousands of cramped houses and elaborate barges, the sheer variety of people and produce and how they flew above it all towards the outer docks where the sea ships were moored.

 _We're here Aemon. You are not alone,_ Daenerys thought, the tears that slipped from the corner of her eyes being swept up on the storm raging around them which began to sweep through Braavos like a blacked fog.

Ghidorah, feeling her churning emotions, let out a great trilling cry before he burst out of the storms belly and down below people began to scream.

* * *


	18. Seafront welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

* * *

Daenerys felt as if she were still flying.

They had found the Cinnamon Wind, moored to the front of the wharf facing towards the Titan's legs among the numerous other vessels. The swan ship had cream sails and the name painted along the angled prow in golden lettering.

A part of her ached at the panic which gripped the people of Braavos as she and her child flew over the city but she hardened her heart, especially when they located the vessel and Ghidorah swooped around to land. Sails and flags snapped in the wind caused by the storm and Ghidorah's great wings, even as waves churned and swelled. The ships that had been heading to Braavos within the bay swung around and began to flee back out towards the open sea.

Ghidorah managed to land several yards from the Cinnamon Wind, his claws screeching against the stone of the docks as he settled upon land with a great huff of air. Daenerys could see how stiff the joints of his wings were as he slowly folded them against his sides even as people ran screaming from the dock to hide among the buildings. Some even threw themselves into the ocean to avoid the golden dragon or hid within the ships lined along the dock.

Daenerys grimaced as she was jostled by Ghidorah's landing, the dragon's exhaustion making him less graceful than usual. They'd been flying for over half a day without rest and her body was one big stiff ache while her full bladder was a sharp pain in her gut. Her skin was also red from both sun and wind burn but Daenerys ground her teeth and bore it. She had felt much the same after walking through the scorching Red Waste suffering from heatstroke and the after effects of a miscarriage, and she had survived that.

Even so it took Ghidorah several moments to settle down on his belly before Daenerys forced her aching limbs to move, crawling from his back to his neck as he lowered his middle head on the ground. Around them the screaming as settled but Daenerys wasn't blind to the numerous people staring at them, hiding around the corners of the buildings or the ships. Some on the moored vessels had bows on hand but had the good sense not to point them towards Daenerys and her child- especially since Ghidorah's side heads were keeping watch even as his middle carefully lowered himself down until his neck was draped along the stone and allowing Daenerys to slide onto the wharf.

Standing on the smooth stone, her feet felt unsure. Her limbs, while aching, also felt strangely wobbly akin to when she'd first boarded a ship. As if she were still soaring through the air. She took several careful steps forward, legs stiff and knees near refusing to bend so it was an unsightly lurch. Ghidorah's middle head remained stretched down close to her, shifting so she could placing a comforting hand on his scaled snout for balance. His other two remained vigil, gazing around and hissing occasionally. His tails waved back and forth, the long barbs flared out. Against his sides his wings twitched as the muscles spasmed and through their bond she could feel their deep ache. Above, lightning grumbled but already the storm was beginning to thin now that Ghidorah was not urging it along.

Looking around, Daenerys could see dozens of people who'd fallen on the wharf or were hiding behind discarded crates or carts when people fled at their arrival. Some were trying to crawl away, too scared to be able to even get back on their feet. Daenerys looked around, spotting a man adjacent to the moored Cinnamon Wind; the crew aboard the vessel were Summer Islanders, so she was relatively sure they were not the Night's Watch member Quaithe spoke of but the fat man cringing back on the docks was fully clad in black. Only those of the Night's Watch wore all black in Westeros and Daenerys felt he may be the one the maegi spoke of. The other Quaithe mentioned, the wildling woman with the babe, could potentially be in one of the halfway houses crammed among the warehouses and trading posts along the wharf.

She forced her aching limbs to move as she tottered towards the downed man. Ghidorah moved next to her, his heads almost swimming through the air next to her like serpents as he kept apace. She may have been assured safety in Braavos but Daenerys was no fool. She would not stray too far from her child, despite knowing the terror he instilled in the inhabitants.

The stone scratched beneath Ghidorah's claws as he followed her on all fours, two heads on either side of her and another above as he tracked her closely until she was scant feet from the man in black who was curled up into a ball as best as he was able for his girth. Her gaze ran hurriedly over the man, noticing that while he had a sigil stitching upon the dark fabric of his shoulders it was without emblem. The chargeless black shield of the Night's Watch.

 _I've found you, Aemon,_ Daenerys felt several knots within her flesh unravel while Ghidorah shifted behind her, his great tails whistling as he whipped them through the air. This man could lead her to him.

It took her several moments to clear her throat enough to speak. Her body swayed even as the wind continued to tug at her, making her clothing flap and nip at the tangled mess of her hair.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she spoke slowly and clearly, burning violet eyes never once leaving the portly man cowering on the ground, "Queen of Meereen, rightful Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Ghidorah. I demand an audience with my great great uncle Aemon Targaryen, maester of Castle Black."

For a long moment the only noise was the distant shouting and yelling of people watching or darting around in her periphery vision, along with the waves lapping against the isle and the grumble of the fading storm above. Then Ghidorah snarled at the man with all three heads, angered by the refusal to answer Daenerys which made the man scream in panic.

Daenerys grimaced, placing a hand upon Ghidorah's nearest snout to soothe him, even as she said, "You are a member of the Night's Watch, are you not? You are travelling with Aemon. I know."

After a moment the man peeked through his fingers at her, face tear stained and eyes darting from her to Ghidorah's heads.

She took in another breath, an impatient part of her wanting to scream at the man until he led her to Aemon. She had to calm her temper, raging would only exacerbate the issue and none respected a ruler who just bellowed at all their issues in rage. Only for she was intensely impatient, for all she knew each moment she wasted could be the moment Aemon passed.

"...You....You're the dragon queen," the man finally stuttered, his round face flushed and damp. 

"Where is Aemon?" her voice became a sharp order, stern and unyielding while Ghidorah growled with a noise like a crumbling cliff side.

"He's- he's resting, he's sick," the man managed to say. With very hesitant movements he got back to his feet, hunching his shoulders as if afraid to stand above her.

"Where is he?" she repeated. Above, the blackened clouds had largely shifted into pale puffs as the sunlight returned to Braavos.

"Maester Aemon is in there," the man looked over to one of the cramped halfway houses across from the moored Cinnamon Wind, "But he's very tired, he's resting before we board a ship for Oldtown tomorrow morn. I'm, I'm going there to learn to be the new maester."

She asked, "What is your name?"

"I'm Sam- Samwell Tarly, your grace," he made a strange gesture, like he was attempting to bow while kneeling to her and only succeeded in nearly falling on his face.

"House Tarly?" Daenerys had heard of that name before. "Your father fought for mine in the Rebellion, did he not?

Samwell opened his mouth to reply but they were distracted by a commotion in the distance. Daenerys pulled back slightly as several dozen guards filled the docks, all armoured and armed including a line of archers. However they stopped at a safe distance, when Ghidorah reared up on his hind legs with a growl as his wings flared out. Daenerys placed a hand on his side and his bristling eased but kept his focus upon the Braavosi. None had yet drawn their weapons or pointed arrows at Ghidorah but Daenerys, for all her impatience, knew she had to move carefully. With the Night's Watch member, Samwell, confirming Aemon yet lived she could relax somewhat.

Now, however, she must parley with the Braavosi before any violence could commence. Ghidorah was already short tempered and she had no desire to see him riddled with arrows while he blasted the ports with lightning. She glanced to the Night's Watch member but he remained in his kneeling position so she ignored him to approach the flock of guards. They tensed as she drew near with Ghidorah still remaining close to her but so far there was no violence. Then she saw another man round the corner, sidling past the onlookers and step forward.

The man was clad in a deep dark purple but despite the almost drab colour of his clothing Daenerys could see it was of high quality material, with gold stitching and jewels sewed within the fabric. He approached her from the cluster of guards, so he must have been an envoy of sort so Daenerys moved to meet him. Even with Ghidorah remaining close, his breath ruffling Daenerys' hair, the Braavosi envoy barely even flinched at the golden dragon's proximity despite stopping within jaws reach. Daenerys tried to straighten up more, despite her aching limbs while ignoring what a birds nest her hair must be.

The stranger gave Daenerys a courtly bow, "Daenerys Stormborn, it is an honour to meet you. I am Camern Uller, an envoy for Ferrego Antaryon, the Sealord of Braavos. I must confess, we are unprepared for your arrival as abrupt as it was and especially one as fearsome as a dragon."

Daenerys replied, "I apologize for any harm or distress my arrival may have caused, as well as the rudeness of not announcing myself to the noble Sealord. I am here in peace, to see off an ailing member of my family to the next life and I had to move post-haste in order to reach him in time. I swear upon my House that I and my child intend no harm to the people of Braavos. "

Camern inclined his head, "On behalf of the Sealord I accept your apology. Braavos has always been a city of laws and freedom. The Sealords have long been enemies of the Masters and your valiant campaign in the south has not gone unnoticed or unsupported by the people here. The Breaker of Chains will be welcomed within our city, as long as you remain true."

Daenerys felt some of the tension within her loosen; so Quaithe had not been deceiving her when she spoke of Daenerys welcome within the sea city.

The man continued speaking, "Though Braavos has had...different tempered relations with Targaryens through the generations, at most we have been allies since Aegon the Conqueror forged the Iron Throne and he had personally aided us before. Your arrival has led me to must ask of you, if you currently intend to continue west?"

She knew which question he was truly asking, so she answered, "Currently my war is with the Masters and none others yet. I am here to ease my last relative in his final moments. I will soon set my eyes westward to my birthplace and stolen crown but currently I am not here as a pre-emptive act of war. If any Westeros vessels intend to sail here in an attack during my stay, I will gladly take the fight beyond Braavos's borders. I do not demand to put the people of Braavos in peril."

"Braavos is an old city, your grace," Camern said, "We remember the dragonlords of Valyria and how it took only three dragons to tame all of Westeros. Considering the...unique nature of your current one, I have no doubt Westeros will quickly remember their stories of the Conqueror. Though I must ask, who is this relative of yours? As many state, you are the last Targaryen."

Daenerys hesitated before continuing with the truth, "He is of the Night's Watch, dying from age and sickness as he has seen near a century of life. He left for the Wall many decades ago and faded from the memories of man. I have only learned of him myself very recently."

"I see."

"Um. Your grace?"

Daenerys fought to keep her face neutral despite the annoyance she felt surge within her at the Night's Watch member's interruption. He had slunk forward, eyes averted to the ground, but was still far enough he had to pitch his voice to be heard as if he feared Ghidorah would snap him up within range. A fair enough idea.

"Maester Aemon is currently sleeping, I doubt he will awaken for some hours. Our...lodgings is um, humble. We were only staying temporarily-"

"Of course the dragon queen may use the embassy housing along these docks," Camern cut in, even if his sharp eyes never left Samwell, "They are for those wishing to talk trade with the Sealord or Iron Bank but also wish to appreciate the Titan and bay. It would be an honour to grant you one, Lady Daenerys."

It was one of the more gaudy housing along the docks close to Aemon's own, small but nonetheless lavish and Daenerys accepted the offer from Camern graciously. In return she would be required to attend to a summon by the Sealord the following morn which she accepted without complaint, knowing she was infringing upon Braavos in a fairly ill mannered way. The Sealord was currently being generous and welcoming so Daenerys had no reason to reject the request. It would also not hurt to curry favour with any of the Free Cities and she still remembered her time in Braavos as a child.

Camern was a dutiful envoy, and asked her polite questions as he all but shouldered Samwell out of the way. Rebuked, the man scurried back and loitered out one of the rundown halfway houses where she presumed Aemon was resting. Across the dock, she could see one of the Summer Islanders wave an arm and shout something to him but Daenerys turned her attention back to Camern.

It was interesting, the mix mash of rich and poor along the docks with the buildings; some were so salt worn she could see barnacles crusting upon them while others shined with a daily polish. It was one of those last ones that Camern escorted her to, reassuring her the guards would remain to prevent any nosy passer-by from bothering Ghidorah. As it was people were already trying to go back to their business along the sprawling docks, mostly those on vessels moored furthest away and when the guards took up a circle they did so out of reach of Ghidorah to which she was thankful for.

Camern also declined her attempt to pay him with the treasures she'd taken from Meereen, citing that the Sealord wished to grant an esteemed guest proper lodgings to which Daenerys asked to give her thanks on to the Sealord and she looked forward to meeting him. Satisfied, the envoy left and Daenerys was able to go tend to herself without an escort.

The housing had a privy to relieve her aching bladder along with a basin of water and bar of tallow soap to which she then scrubbed her hands and face clean. Then there was an attempt to brush out her tangled hair with the horsehair brush from her pack that she'd put on the small bed. She succeeded eventually after some fight and when she tied back her hair it was again in a simple braid. A smaller braid hung just behind her left ear, where she kept her silver bells threaded. She felt less windswept in any case and straightened her clothing.

She felt far more steady when she emerged, heading to where Aemon was. The Night's Watch member, Samwell Tarly, was lingering outside near the Cinnamon Wind and seemed to be talking to one of the Summer Islanders. She ignored them to make her way to the cramped halfway house she'd seen him point out, Ghidorah shifting alongside her with a rattle of scales and wings. The Braavosi guard were unobtrusive though Daenerys could seen the awe and fear on many of their faces.

Ghidorah settled down right outside the cramped building, his great claws scraping against the stone as he lay down. Anyone who wanted to get into the building would have to get past him. Above she could see some terrified faces peeking out of the windows of the adjacent buildings and many of the people trying to work on the docks seemed to be trying to be as quiet and slow as possible.

Daenerys rubbed at her child's snout before moving around his golden bulk, avoiding his folded wings and stepping over the sinuous length of a tail until she reached the salt stained door. He could use the rest; so could she, but she had to see Aemon first.

The inside was damp and threadbare and tucked in one corner of the main room upon a rickety cot was a woman with a gaunt face, thick dark hair and large brown eyes like a doe. Clutched against her chest was a swaddled bundle, no doubt the babe of the king-beyond-the-wall. Daenerys paused, not missing the obvious fear in the woman's stare and inclined her head towards the wildling while trying to relax her features. She had no intent of frightening a mother.

"I mean you and the child no harm," Daenerys said, spreading her hands at her side, "I am only here to see to Aemon."

"You're the dragon mother," the words were spoken softly even as the woman continued to stare, her gaze briefly darting to the window where golden scales could be seen yonder. "The one who the star fell for. We saw it. Even over the Wall."

"Yes." 

The woman shifted upon the cot, a grumbling coming from the bundle in her arms. She cooed down at the baby, even if her brown eyes did not drop from Daenerys. Her face was tear stained, the whites of her eyes tinged red.

"Aemon is in there," she said, nodding towards a door.

Daenerys let the woman be, even if she was distantly curious as to how the wildling got beyond the Wall in the first place, and when she went through the door and saw the man asleep within all thoughts of that vanished.

The old man had been bundled into the bed with a plethora of pelts tucked around him. His hands were lying lax upon the fabric, fingers knobby and thick veined. Around Aemon's neck were the ever present chains of a maester, the links forged of different metals to show which subject was mastered. 

Daenerys felt a lump form in her throat as she stared down at the slumbering man, seeing the spots along his bald scalp and the landscape of wrinkles sunken deep into his features. A man who, if Daenerys' knowledge of her family history was correct, had lived through nine kings sitting upon the Iron Throne. Who had seen those eerie blue eyed not-men from beyond the Wall, if Quaithe's words were to be trusted. Who knew of those Others, the pale shadows. Who was the last of her family.

With a rustle of fabric Daenerys settled down on the stool next to the bedside, reaching out and taking Aemon's nearest hand between her own. His skin was cold but Daenerys didn't care as she took up vigil by his side.

Even as a restless sleep seeped into her mind she remained sitting, her chin dropping to her chest and hands still gripping Aemon's.

Her doze was shallow, dreams ebbing through her mind like waves of a tide pool. Her dreams were of wings and Ghidorah, of her and her child being one body and mind as they flew. She dreamed an exploding volcano which belched great clouds of black into the storm above as lava spilled down the sides of the mountain in brilliant crimson streaks. She dreamed of flying above it, with her golden scales and three heads and fighting a dragon above the volcano, a dragon whose wings dripped fire like the magma below and whose scream was as harsh as a sea eagle's as it clawed at her armoured belly and bit at her necks.

"Gilly?"

The voice was hoarse and Daenerys instantly snapped out of her doze, feeling the wrinkled fingers squeeze around her hand as her dream vanished into nothing. She straighten in her chair, ignoring the ache in her neck as she leaned over Aemon as the old man struggled to wakefulness. His eyes were open, showing sightless pupils of a milky white. Daenerys had to wonder what colour his eyes had been before blindness took them- violet, like her own? Or perhaps lilac, as Viserys possessed?

The weak grip around her fingers squeezed again before sliding up to her wrist. His wrinkled features contorted into confusion even as Aemon's voice was barely more than a whisper as he rasped, "No...you're not Gilly."

"No, Aemon Targaryen. I am not she."

With a grunt the old man struggled to push himself upright, Daenerys using her free hand to help steady his shoulder until he was sitting. The bells threaded through her silver-gold hair chimed softly with the motion, and she could see how Aemon turned his head towards the noise.

"You are the third son of King Maekar Targaryen and his wife Dyanna Dayne," Daenerys said softly, "Lost to the Wall and the black of the Watch for so long the minds of man forgot your dragon blood. I have come for you, in your final days."

"If you are indeed the Stranger here to escort me to the next life then you are far more gentle than the septons have led all of us to believe."

"I am just as much flesh and bone as you," Daenerys replied, "You have been a king's son, a king's brother, and a king's uncle. And you are a queen's great great uncle."

His fingers spasmed against her skin and she could see the way his pulse picked up against the fleshless skin of his neck. 

"We are the last of a House burnt and broken but not yet lost," she continued, "I have lost a brother and a husband and a son. I'm the bride of dragons, daughter of dragons, mother of dragons, spoken in whispers across Westeros from the stags and the lions and direwolves and perhaps even spoke of at the Wall."

The withered hand not caught between her own reached up towards her face, searching sightlessly until his knuckles brushed against her chin. She could feel his fingers trembling as he gently cupped her cheek.

"Uncle Aemon," Daenerys breathed, "My name is Daenerys Targaryen and I have come for you."

* * *


	19. THE PALE MARE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care what other people think, I rly liked Barristan's chapters 'cause he's so protective towards Dany. It's a nice change from the usual gross perverted old men she's surrounded by.

* * *

It had been three days and Queen Daenerys had still not returned.

Outside the walls of Meereen the dead and dying were gathered, churning against the walls and pushing at the banks of the river. More and more had appeared during the long hot hours of the day after that first rider had come and collapsed just beyond the gates.

The bloody flux as Ser Barristan knew it but to the Meereenese it was the pale mare. 

When the sun had risen over the harpy's city the morning of the queen leaving north, the morning meeting of her councilors had been gathered and Daenerys' bloodriders had also returned. Knowing enough that she was close to them, Barristan had the three at the council meeting. He still felt unsure and almost lost, as he was a knight not a Hand. But Daenerys had trusted him, Grey Worm and Missandei with her true purpose to her disappearance and Barristan would stay fast to his reassurance to look after the city in her absence. Even if the rest of the men gathered were confused as to why she was no longer in the city.

Her kos had barely even questioned her disappearance, trusting in their khaleesi and simply saying she could return. Strong Belwas was much the same, simply shrugging and continuing to eat his roasted horse leg when informed of the queen being gone upon an errand. Reznak and Skahaz, the two Meereenese who bent to Daenerys' ear, had reacted more poorly but it was Reznak who had been near hysterics when told the queen was preoccupied beyond the city walls.

"The queen has left us to our fates," Reznak had all but wailed. "She has abandoned we who have so faithfully served her cause to be put to the sword and for our sweet wives and maiden daughters to be raped and enslaved."

Skahaz had scoffed in response, heavy features set in a deep scowl, "If your first desire is to roll belly up without the dragon queen nursing you as a mother to her babe then you might as well go die with the lepers outside the walls. I will kill the Masters myself."

It had been the decision to shut the gates to the refugees from Astapor and Yunkai, not wanting the risk of the pale mare spreading within the walls. Barristan knew many wars had been lost to starvation and disease, which was a more effective weapon than swords or arrows. Brown Ben Plumm had said that the sellswords hired by the Masters, the Cats and the Windblown, were the ones driving the disease riddled refugees north to swarm the walls of Meereen in hope of the infection spreading within.

"Where is your courage?" Ser Barristan said in irritation to Reznak. "Her Grace freed you from your chains. It is for you to sharpen your swords and defend your own freedom when she leaves. She has trust in us to think for ourselves and defend ourselves if need be. Not cower and flee."

"The queen shall return," Grey Worm agreed. "And we shall kill the Masters when they march to us, just as she would do."

Truthfully Barristan did not agree with his queen's decision to stay in Essos; Westeros needed her, and the Essosi did not want her. But her desire to aid the weak, the vulnerable, outweighed her desire for her homeland and the Iron Throne so in Meereen they stayed and he would serve her still.

"Our stores are ample," Barristan said instead. "When the Masters march to siege it will not be starvation that will be the threat. Hysteria within Meereen would cause as much peril as the army beyond."

"Then we should kill the noble families before the Harpy's resume their knives," Skahaz said, thick fingers thumbing at his weapon hilt. "They will seek to topple Meereen from within. The head of the Harpy is no doubt a highborn overlord, a secret general commanding an army of shadows to slaughter our queen's people. They will take advantage of the siege, we should kill their grown sons or at least take the children as hostage to ensure good manners."

"The queen will not kill children." Of that Barristan had no doubt.

Skahaz gave Barristan a dismissive look, "Ser Grandfather may be a foreign knight but you are as withered as the burnt orchards beyond the walls."

It was Missandei who spoke then, "And you should know, honourable Shavepate, that to beware the old man in a profession where men die young. Ser Barristan has served long and strong in Westeros and has many feats and battles won by his hand, including the slaying of the last dragonseed after fighting his way through the Golden Company. He rescued Lady Jeyne Swann from a pack of bandits and slew their leader in combat and defeating the Smiling Knight. Can you claim such feats, noble Skahaz?"

The Shavepate glared at the scribe but she just stared back with an unyielding golden stare. Daario grinned from where he was standing off to the side while Barristan was inwardly quite surprised at Missandei knowing that much about him. 

"There is also the confirmations of the host marching towards Meereen from all directions," Brown Ben Plumm added in, choosing to ignore the spat. "The Yunkai'i have bought themselves new sellswords, and two legions from New Ghis fought beside them. Yunkish envoys have been sent to Myr and Volantis to hire more blades. The Company of the Cat, the Long Lances, the Windblown. Tolos and Mantarys have agreed to an alliance with the Masters and are also marching to Meereen. Some say that the Wise Masters have bought the Golden Company as well. There is also word that Volantis is sending its fleet. However with the queen...gone, perhaps Volantis may follow her to wherever she fled atop her beast." 

"The Khalessi did not flee," one of her bloodriders said, the bells ringing in his braid as he shook his head.

"Then where is she?"

"She will return," was all Grey Worm said.

* * *

On the morn of the third day the galleys of Qartheen, of Tolosi and New Ghis had completely sealed the great river Skahazadhan and others out to sea were now visible in the bay as they inched every closer. They had grown bold as the days grew with no sign of the golden dragon or the silver queen. Due to the threat, the fishing vessels withdrew completely to the city.

Daario had scoffed at the news, seemingly the only one entirely unbothered by the rapidly building siege within the waters. 

"When was the last time the Qartheen had marched to war?" the sellsword said. "Like the rest of those Masters they just hide behind their walls if they get so much as a glimpse of those horselords and think that's fighting. Much like those cowardly Harpies here in Meereen. We should trim the noble family trees some more, before those fools get more bold."

"The queen would not wantonly slaughter her own subjects," Missandei said with her usual level calm.

Daario had just replied with a blithe, "Yet they would gladly slaughter her. Why should we let the queen's enemies live when we could just drag them from their pyramids and cut their heads off? To cause more mischief when the slave armies arrive? Let that be the gift for when she returns, with the news those cowardly shadows have been slain in her absence."

"She is no butcher."

"Better the butcher than the meat. And her dragon can eat the rest, I doubt it would protest. It knows what is it and the sooner our queen stops acting like a horse or harpy and more like the dragon she is the better it will be."

"Better for your blade, do you mean?" Missandei asked, voice still level and golden stare unwavering. Daario just laughed, taking no offense to the scribe's words.

"The queen does indeed have her dragon," Brown Ben Plumm said. "The slave army will be sorely mistaken if they think they can slaughter it like one of the freedmen."

"A monster," Reznak insisted. "A monster that eats the people of Meereen as easily as it eats cattle-"

"You mean a foolish boy who threatened its mother?" Daario said, arching an eyebrow as he picked at his nails with a knife. "None were stupid enough to threaten the Conqueror before Balerion, I would think. That beast isn't stupid, even if your perfumed mind can't seem to grasp that notion."

There was truth to the matter, for all Barristan did not understand dragons he was not oblivious to the protective and possessiveness the golden beast exhibited towards Daenerys and her to it. Even when it had torn Mero limb from limb Daenerys had chosen to clean the blood from its muzzle by hand, using a soft wet cloth to wash away the red and using fingers to pluck bone and hair from between its teeth. The dragon seemed to respond to the queen's own emotions much as she did to it. Though he had served a Targaryen throne for the majority of his life, the true nature of the dragonriders was lost to him.

Living as a Kingsguard for as long as he had, Barristan was no stranger to the history of the Targaryen's. Before Robert's Rebellion all the preserved skulls of the Targaryen dragons had lined the floors of the Great Hall to guard the Iron Throne. Bones that shimmered like polished obsidian, even after centuries of being stripped bare of flesh. Of Balerion's skull which had been so massive that even Barristan standing tall he could not reach its yawning eye socket and then that of the Last Dragon, which had a skull smaller than an apple. And of the Targaryens themselves, brought down to the other Houses with the loss of the dragons but they were still and oddity almost, with their pale hair and purple eyes. But for the dragonriders, even less was known.

Barristan had to wonder how greatly Daenerys restrained her child, how much of her anchored the golden dragon to something close to civility. Only her did it tolerate her touch and she fussed over the beast as any mother would. She would pat and caress its scales, smoothing her hands over its plated back or rubbing at its snout. When she'd left for Braavos that night the dragon had picked her up in its jaws, as delicately as a cat would pick up her kittens. Barristan had heard from the queen's khalasar that when the dragon had hatched it had been the size of a cat, like the supposed Last Dragon. Now the creature was so large it was near the size of a ship.

But the queen and her dragon were not in Meereen. Instead they had gone north, propelled by a dream and the urge to know of what dwelled beyond the Wall. Barristan was no fool, he knew there were many, many stories about creatures that lurked beyond the Wall not just in the North alone but all over Westeros but for all his decades he had thought of them as stories. Now though it seemed the age had changed and old tales were mired in truth. Yet Barristan could not spend time dwelling upon those supposed tales as Meereen of the now and present was rapidly degrading as days passed.

Outside of Meeren there were thousands now gathered- men and women and children, old men and little girls and newborn babes. Many were sick, most were starved, and all were doomed to die. The bloody flux spread through their numbers, the sick dying and the healthy becoming sick.

There was also more news of the army approaching Meereen, now bolstered with information of elephants, a hundred, armored and towered with scores of Tolosi slingers, and a corps of Qartheen camelry. More ships also barricaded the river and sea as the slave armies closed in.

But there were not just the dying outside the walls, there were envoys sent by the Wise Masters of Yunkai and the Good Masters of Astapor. Barristan had no intention of surrender, as Daenerys had trusted him and her closest with the city, but tradition demanded the envoys were granted safe passage for discussions even if he knew it would go no where.

This time it was Missandei, Grey Worm and Barristan who dealt with them. Grey Worm, as commander of the queen's army, Barristan as her council and Missandei as her closest confidant and scribe. There were three others with the two messengers of Yunkai and Astapor, representing Qaarth, Tolosi and New Ghis but they seemed to be more willing to watch than discuss when they met in one of the towers overlooking the bay.

"We came to meet the dragon queen," the envoy of Yunkai said flatly. "Instead I am greeted by an old man, a eunuch and a bedslave. Does the queen intend to cast insult as well as arrogance?"

"Our apologies. Queen Daenerys is currently preoccupied with other matters. We act on behalf of our queen," Missandei said calmly. Despite her composure Barristan could see the tension in her hands from where they was clasped upon her lap. Only she sat, Barristan and Grey Worm flanking her and on their feet in armour.

Barristan was no fool. Even in the Kingsguard, back when it was for the exemplary and honourbound rather than who you knew and who you bribed. But even those back then who wore the gold and white may be the strongest, the fastest, they were still men and but still fell prey to pride, ambition, love, anger, jealousy, avarice and the lust for power, and all the other failings that afflicted men from king to peasant. The best of them overcame their flaws and their yearnings, did their duty, and died with their swords in their hands. The worst were those who played the game of thrones.

He was a knight and would die as one and knights were to be oathbound. As such the law of hospitality meant he would not slew the envoys unless they prove to be assassins but as the discussion grew Barristan felt the urge just the same.

"Once before the beggar queen was offered peace," one said. "She refused and instead attacked the envoy with her beast, greviously injuring-"

"The envoy was naught injured but his pride," Missandei said.

There was outrage on the faces of the envoys, that she would dare to interrupt them. Barristan kept his hand gripping his sword hilt, for even though the Masters were garbed in silks and lavish jewels he wouldn't miscount them to a threat even if they looked to be unarmed.

"Either way, the queen now does not even deign to meet us," one finally spoke, "She casts insult upon insult to the ancient cities."

"State your purpose, noble lord," was all the scribe replied.

"The rules for peace are quite simple," Another of the men said. "The foreign queen is to relinquish her hold upon Meereen and leave. As a show of our gratitude and forgiving nature, we are even willing to permit her to leave with her stolen property, the Unsullied and translater of the Good Master Kraznys mo Nakloz."

Barristan tensed even if Missandei and Grey Worm kept themselves neutral, as not if the men before them spoke as if they were livestock.

"The queen will not leave Meereen, she had pledged to stay here until the safety of the freedmen is assured."

"Which will never happen. Slavery has been the way of the world long before dragons were even birthed and shall do so long after that foreign queen of yours turns to dust. We are civil men here and your barbarian queen should know that, even if she is so arrogant to not meet."

"You are men who tore us from our mother's arms, stole us from our homes and sold us for coin yet we are the uncivil ones?" Missandei's voice, which remained as calm and even as when the meeting began, seemed to enrage the envoys more than any amount of screaming or cursing ever could.

They left just as furious, with Missandei refusing all attempts of bargaining as all came down to Daenerys and her host leaving. Barristan knew it was simply more wood for the fire and the envoys had been an empty gesture to begin with.

* * *

There were enemies swarming all around Meereen, like wolves circling a dying stag. 

More and more ships drew up to shore, spilling countless soldiers upon the banks and without any act of subtlety after the refusal of terms. The Yunkai'i were even bringing in wood by sea to build their siege weaponry. Behind their ditches they were building catapults, great bowed scorpions, tall trebuchets. Despite this there were no building of battering rams so they would not try to take Meereen by storm. They would wait behind their siege lines and chip away at Meereen piece by piece.

They were growing bolder as the days stretched with no sign of the silver queen and her golden dragon. And truthfully Barristan himself worried. Daenerys would not abandon the city, not when she had forgone Westeros for it, but she was a half a continent away and there were no means to find her. There had been several reports of the dragon being sighted but those were laden with hysteria or such embellishment he did not believe them any more than he believed the tales about Daenerys from Volantis.

And on this fourth day of no return, Daario came with news that Ben Brown Plumm had chosen the sides of the Masters.

"A coward, would that I bring his severed head for our queen," Daario had growled. He had already claimed several for new Stormcrows during the skirmish and made mention of how some were even Westerosi.

A sell-swords loyalty was always in doubt so Barristan was not overtly shocked by the betrayal.

Though the pale mare was also inching its way through the slave armies gathered beyond the wall, mostly through the Tolosi but had already brushed against the New Ghis legion.

There were also the Son's of the Harpy, who had not been idle. More and more were being slain, freedmen found with their throats cut as the days lengthened with no sign of the dragon queen.

Barristan himself refused to believe the queen was dead; he did not know the speed at which a dragon flew, so he did not know if she had even reached Braavos after four days. Further still his disappearance was now known to the general populace, who had grown used to the golden dragon gliding over the city or catching fish in the bay. Now the blue skies were empty and the queen unknown. Half would think she was dead, even as rumours flooded the streets.

He had come to bring Daenerys Stormborn home but instead she was gone to the wind and he had failed her just like he had failed her father, her mother, her brother. Perhaps the Gods had decided that, that his fate was to watch the Targaryens he had sworn to protect instead perish while he lived on. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. He could not believe it and must have faith she would succeed in her quest to know her dragon dream.

He had to remember she was nothing like those he had served, she had ridden her dragon much as Aegon had ridden Balerion. Whatever he may think of her golden beast, he was certain he did not misjudge the devotion the creature gave to her and she it. It would not let her come to harm unless a city wished to burn and while the people of Braavos were many things they were not stupid. And there was no point in entertaining perhaps the Faceless Men, for all the gold the Masters could muster would not be enough to buy that contract.

Barristan must have faith that Daenerys would return, just as Missandei and Grey Worm had.

"She will not go home without us," was all Missandei said when she brought up the rumours, with Grey Worm nodding resolutely beside her. The three had many meetings without the rest of the council, the only three trusted with the queen's true purpose.

Barristan could only hope she had reached her great great uncle Aemon in time. Barristan was one-and-sixty and when he had to climb the hundreds of steps up the Great Pyramid his knees and spine ached always yet Aemon was to be over a century of age. A man lost to the Wall and Barristan could only hope Daenerys had managed to reach her last family in time, even with the perils of Meereen churning like a storm beyond the walls.

* * *

"It is said the Masters have created an army of scorpions to loosen bolts into the sky when our queen returns."

"It is no simple thing to slay a dragon in the sky. In Westeros, many tried to bring down Aegon and his sisters. None succeeded and that was with dragons with a single head."

Only the eyes were the vulnerable spot of a dragon- the eyes and the brains behind it. Yet the queen's had six eyes and three brains and Barristan doubted it would be felled easily. Only there were they vulnerable, not the belly as some tales would say. Even with the storming of the Dragonpit during the Dance, only when the skulls were caved in did the dragons die and they made their killers pay dearly all the same. Thousands dead for four chained and stunted beasts in a cave and Daenerys' dragon was no bound pet.

Yet still, with no word there was worry even if he did his best to avoid brooding upon it and instead focus on the war building outside the walls. Because the slavers meant to attack Meereen, when they lost patience with the pale mare ripping through their ranks.

Something the Green Grace, Galazza Galare, said as much during a council meeting. Of all, not just Barristan, Grey Worm and Missandei. As the fifth day dawned with no sign of the silver queen and her golden dragon. Missandei had suggested it, though from the tilt of her full lips were any indication she did not trust the priestess. The scribe trusted none that held power when slavery was alive but she said the Green Grace was head of the faith and perhaps the Masters would listen to a ceasefire from one of their own more readily. The Green Grace had not seem overtly happy with being asked to speak to the Masters after Missandei refused their first terms but had finally agreed for peace though she had insisted that Hizdahr zo Loraq would be a better envoy for such discussions.

One of the Harpy's, Skahaz had said in distaste, before the council began.

"And what of the Sons?"

"They had claimed thirty lives before the morn even broke," the Shavepate had added.

Barristan frowned at the sudden jump. The killings had been kept in single digits but now with the queen's prolonged absence it had begun to jump dramatically and Barristan felt it would only get worse from here.

"Cowards all," Rakharo, one of the queen's kos, said in disgust. "Such as the Masters, hiding in shadows because they cannot fight."

Missandei also suggested offering gold to the sellsword companies, if not to bribe them back then to bribe them to break their contracts and simply leave Meereen. To offer to the captains or their own lieutenants, as sieges were long and boring and the pale mare was galloping rampant through the slaver armies beyond the walls.

Then the Green Grace had returned, with much the same news.

The woman was old, even by his he would guess another twenty. She settled down upon one of the chairs in the room with the council in a swirl of silks, drinking from a goblet of lemon juice to soothe her throat before she spoke.

"Has there been any news of our gentle queen?" the old woman asked as she set her goblet down.

"None yet."

"The gods sent the man to us, it was sigh he was stricken upon a pale mare. He came as a harbinger. He came as a sign we ignored." The Green Grace said, her voice growing mournful. 

"Superstition of old women," Skahaz sniffed.

The Green Grace sighed in a gust of air. "The peace that we worked so hard to forge flutters like a leaf in an autumn wind and will spin away into nothing. These are dire days. Death stalks our streets, riding the pale mare from thrice-cursed Astapor and will quickly spread to these walls even as it gallops through the army beyond. Hundreds are taking ship, sailing for Yunkai, for Tolos, for Qarth, for any refuge that will have them than this dying city. The queen has abandoned us after she killed so many of us. My people have lost all hope and turned against the gods themselves, giving over their nights to drunkenness and fornication."

"And murder. The Sons of the Harpy slew thirty in the night."

"I grieve to hear this. This is why I say invite Hizdahr zo Loraq to these meetings, bring him in as a voice and he shall aid in stopping these killings and may parley with the Masters beyond before Meereen is returned to the dirt."

And how will he succeed at that, unless he is a Harpy? Barristan shifted, his mail clinking with the movement even as Missandei never dropped her stare from the Green Grace. Around her neck was a necklace made from a dragon tooth, a gift from the queen. The white fang was stark against her dusky skin and her golden eyes were as watchful as a hawk as she studied the Green Grace closely. 

Reznak jumped in then, "The Green Grace is correct. The noble Hizdahr knows of diplomacy and manners, he would do well to soothe over the tattered edges before grievous war breaks out upon us. Peace is the pearl beyond price and Hizdahr will help us find it."

Irritated, Barristan spoke, "The queen did not install him in her place. She sent him away and made her terms for her hand clear and he failed them."

"Her beast can be swayed with a piece of mutton, Her Magnificence is young and gentle and had been blinded by stories of Old Valyria."

The idea the queen's dragon would ignore Daenerys' wellbeing for a slab a meat was enough to nearly make him snort if Barristan had any less control. Daario didn't bother hiding his derision for the comment, however, opening scoffing at the old woman's words before he took a large gulp of his wine. Grey Worm said nothing while Belwas continued to eat.

"The dragon is untamed, wild and rabid," Reznak agreed. "It has feasted upon children before-"

"Yes, the Masters were indeed concerned for children when they took over a hundred and sixty for mile markers," Missandei said and making Reznak choke on his words.

"As for my request," The Green Grace smoothed down her skirts while choosing to ignore the scribe, "It had come to naught. The Masters demand dragon blood in return for the grievous offense taken against them. To give them that and they shall leave Meereen be, but the creature has left due to the death of its mother."

"The queen is not-"

"I know these were not the words you wished to hear," interrupted Galazza Galare. "Yet for myself, I understand. That dragon is a fell beast like all its kin, birthed from Hell with no purpose beyond death and ruin. Yunkai fears them and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dreaded Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis and how they terrorized Essos before the Doom took them. Even your own young radiant queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons...she is not safe from it. We may be far across the sea but I know of Targaryens and they can be devoured by dragons just as anyone else and bucked from their backs."

Reznak gasped, hands flying to his breast, "Have the Gods of Ghis told you?"

"The queen has perished," the Green Grace said, tears shining in her eyes beyond the silken veil. "She has been slain and her broken body lies in the grass beyond Meereen's walls. May the Gods grant her sweet sleep and swift death to her abomination of an offspring if it should return. Her freed servants should leave Meereen as well, so the cities can forget the bloodshed and destruction the dragon queen brought to us."

Then a distant _thud_ rumbled through the distance, catching everyone's attention. Barristan, who had been about to reject the Green Grace's assumption for he had the Seven and they had not uttered a thing, quickly strode over to the balcony and saw the rapidly building chaos below.

Now the catapults and trebuchets of the slaver army were moving. Not just the ones in the scorched land next to Meereen but also the ships surrounding the bay. Flinging boiling pitch, flaming rocks and disease riddled bodies into the city of Meereen as bells began to toll below.

The siege had finally begun.

* * *


	20. Valar morghulis

* * *

Daenerys told Aemon everything.

From her earliest memories in Braavos, with her brother and Ser William Darry with the house with the red door and the lemon tree. Of running to avoid the Usurpers assassins and Viserys' descent from a loving brother to a tormentor. To being sold in marriage to Khal Drogo and learning among the Dothraki, of learning to ride silver and to stiffen her spine to be a Khalessi. To learning their language, their customs, of Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah and the gift of the dragon eggs. Of how the eggs had always felt warm to touch and how the flames of the brazier never harmed her. Of Jorah and his constant presence, her knight of Bear island. Of Viserys' growing madness as Daenerys grew and rejected his abuse of her. Of learning she carried a child within her, of traveling to Vaes Dothrak and eating a bloodied, warm stallions heart before the crones of the dosh khaleen. Of naming her son Rhaego and the prophecy of the Stallion who mounts the World. Of Viserys' death after he threatened to cut her unborn babe from her before her husband, and how Drogo crowned Viserys in molten gold and how dull his lilac eyes were when the life left his body. Of the vintner who tried to poison her only to be caught and tied, of Drogo's declaration to gift the Seven Kingdoms to their son as retribution for the attempted assassination. Of the khalasar raiding the Lhazareen village, with Drogo being cut from his killing of two khals and the godswife Mirri Maz Durr offering her poisonous aid. Of Drogo sickening, of Mirri Maz Durr killing Rhaego within Daenerys as payment for a ghost in a body. Of learning about the mutated remains of her dead son and of smothering her husband and how the khalasar broke and all that were left were some dozen and her bloodriders. Of Mirri Maz Durr's taunts, of what life was worth when all else was gone. Of lashing the maegi to the pyre and lit her ablaze and Daenerys herself walking within the flames as the woman's screams echoed across the land.

Then the moment when she realized Ghidorah had hatched for her, of gathering that small scaled body against her as she huddled upon the burnt husk of the pyre upon the bones of her husband. A dragon as small and frail as an infant, scales of gold with three heads. One who breathed storm and lightning, to match the namesake of his mother. Her child, her Ghidorah.

And how he was with her, crossing the Red Waste and fighting the warlocks of Qarth. Of him killing the Good Master at Astapor as she took control of the Unsullied before she freed the soldiers who then chose to follow her on their own accord.Then her campaigns against Yunkai and Meereen, Ghidorah killing the Meereenese champion and her people cracking open the walls like a ripe melon. Of her trying to rule Meereen while fending off the Harpy and all the trials it entailed being a ruler.

Of how her child who grew and grew until his wings could carry her, telling how it felt to be carried aloft by a dragon for the first time in centuries. To see the cities from the gaze of a bird, to feel how his scales felt beneath her and the boom of his wings and the rush of air as they soared through the sky.

She even told Aemon of the House of the Undying, the blue lipped warlocks, of the shadowbinder Quaithe with her strange prophecy, and her dragon dreams.

Through it all, Aemon's shaking fingers roved over her face; tracing the curve of her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the arch of her brow, the bow of her mouth. His blind eyes were open wide, foggy irises surrounded by egg-shell white.

"The life of a Targaryen is never easy," Aemon lamented when she finished, his calloused thumb stroking her jaw. "I fled to the Wall to stop a civil war for succession and lost my bones and body to the cold and time, forgotten at the end of the earth and surrounded by ghosts. It is hard to be so old, so old and feeble. And harder still to be so blind. I miss the sun and books. And the fact I will never be able to see you in my last moments."

"I'm still here nonetheless," Daenerys said quietly, feeling the hot stinging behind her eyelids.

"I believed I was going to die with that regret, to never meet my brave surviving family, fighting against a tide of enemies a continent away. Even now I am unsure if you are simply a shade sent by the Stranger, to lead me across the veil to the darkness. If indeed you are before me, then I fear you'll have this journey alone and without me," Aemon rasped. "The journey told to you by the witch, of those beyond the Wall. The Others. They stir and the Long Night again approaches and I'm too old and feeble to be by your side when you face this horror."

Daenerys felt a shiver roll down her spine, at Aemon vindication of the maegi's words of the dead men in the Land of Always Winter. The pale shadows. The Others.

"Even this meeting is enough," Daenerys assured him instead, squeezing his hand. "Ever since Viserys died I'd been without family and when my brother perished he was a tormentor to me, a monster with my brother's face. I had gone without hope of ever seeing kin again. Even if this is a brief meeting, I will cherish you still."

Tears swelled in Aemon's blind eyes, making the milky white pearlescent. "Ah, you remind me of Egg; he had a sweetness to him we all loved, especially beloved by the smallfolk. Fierce and gentle in equal measure. After our House dying perhaps I despaired on how loneliness and fear can twist one into something dark. But you returned with dragons, something which had been lost to dreams for myself and my brothers, a dream which took even more lives at Summerhall trying to wake them. Our grief and glory and we were lost without them."

"Do you wish to meet him?"

Aemon's weathered face creased, as if confused by her words.

"My child," Daenerys explained. "He flew me from Meereen to Braavos upon the swiftest of wings. He is just beyond the door and guards me while I am here in Braavos. Do you wish to meet him?"

His fingers spasmed against her skin, his throat flexing before he managed to say, "To see a dragon is to see one of the wonders of the world. Though in my case sight is be beyond me. But yes, if he will permit me. I would meet your child."

Aemon struggled to push himself upright so Daenerys assisted him without hesitation, sliding an arm underneath his to support his weight as she helped him stand. Despite him being much taller than her, he was deceptively light even with the bulkiness of his maester robes.

She could feel him stumble against her as Ghidorah shifted outside the house, the rasp of the golden dragon's scales audible. Through their link she could still feel his aching limbs which mirrored her own but her child moved up onto his belly, rousing himself from where he'd been coiled like a cat.

Outside, the air reeked of salt and fish and the Braavosi guard were still present to keep back the crowd of curious onlookers; now that it had seemed Daenerys had no interest in burning Braavos to cinders the braver ones were skulking around the harbour to stare at Ghidorah where his great golden bulk was curled before the housing. There were many workers as she gently guided Aemon through the doorway, the crew dragging crates or carts to and fro while avoiding getting too close to Ghidorah. There were more ships in the bay even if many seemed wary of actually being too near.

She also spotted some painters and sculptors among the crowd watching Ghidorah from a safe distance away, with one of the nearest blocks of marble already taking a serpentine shape underneath a chisel and hammer. Camern, the envoy, was also there but he seemed to be speaking to the nervous Night's Watch member. He made no attempt to approach her as Ghidorah stirred, the dragon's movements making the more flighty of onlookers flee into the city or the ships. Aemon's arm tightened around her as Ghidorah's shadow cast over them, the dragon still resting on all fours but with his sinuous length stretched around so one wing was resting against the housing and his tails on the other side, keeping Daenerys and Aemon boxed before his curved body and largely obscuring them from the watchers.

Through their bond she could sense Ghidorah's curiosity over Aemon, her child being raised upon stories of Targaryens. His mid most head bent forward, the slits of his crimson pupils expanding with interest. Aemon's body twitched as Ghidorah's hot breath washed over them, reeking of fish and salt. The arm not slung over Daenerys' shoulder twitched up, Aemon's withered fingers flexing as he stared blindly up in the direction of Ghidorah's nearest head. Above the sun glinted off the dragon's golden scales, refracting flecks of light across the stony wharf and nearby buildings.

"Uncle Aemon, meet my child, Ghidorah," Daenerys said quietly, her grip tightening on Aemon's robes as she gently urged his trembling form forward another step.

Daenerys sent a wordless request to her child and his other two heads swiveled around to watch her with severe intensity. It was large she was asking and if he chose to refuse then she would not begrudge him, even after traveling over a continent for Aemon. She could sense the flurry of emotion radiating through her child as he thought over her request before his left most head snorted and stretched out a long golden neck until his snout was lowered just before them.

Her love washed over their link for her child permitting this, before she gripped Aemon's bony wrist and helped guide his hand up until his fingertips brushed against smooth scales. Aemon's entire body spasmed, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as Daenerys urged him forward until his palm was lying flat on Ghidorah's scales.

"Oh...there you are..." Aemon's voice held such raw emotion that Daenerys could not help but smile.

Ghidorah's thoughts shifted, still so very curious as his other two heads moved closer. Aemon's blind eyes looked sightlessly over to where he could feel the additional breathing coming from.

"The tales are true, uncle," Daenerys said. "My child hatched for me with three heads."

"The dragon has three heads," Aemon's voice was barely more than a whisper.

The middle and right head did not permit Aemon's touch, the right even briefly curling a lip as Aemon swayed towards them with one hand still pressed to the left, but they remained close enough Aemon could feel their breathing and presence. She knew Ghidorah greatly disliked touch from any barring herself so it meant much to her he was even allowing Aemon's.

Aemon's hand roved along Ghidorah's snout, feeling the smooth scales, the slight divots of soft skin between. Ghidorah shifted, snorting out a breath before he titled his head, permitting Aemon to feel along the bony ridge of his jaw and the short spikes clustered along the golden scales before Aemon's hand brushed against the rough beginning of Ghidorah's lowermost horn.

The tears gleamed on Aemon's wrinkled cheeks, sliding down his chin to drip onto his robes. His breath was short and stuttery as his pulse fluttered against the thin skin of his throat.

"Oh...oh...what a sight you must be..." Aemon said, his voice nearly a whisper. "It does my old bones good, so good, to know you both are so young and strong and proud."

"The world has seen fit to test us, but we will not fall."

Aemon's gnarled fingers bumped over the jagged ridges of Ghidorah's horn as he said, "I fear the fates have simply let you feel the briefest push of their cruelty. The Others as beyond the notion of man and the Night's Watch is long past what it had been. It is such a great burden to push on you both."

"We shall meet it nonetheless," Daenerys insisted to which Ghidorah growled in agreement. He did not know what those Others were but she could sense his certainty he would kill them all the same.

"Ah, forgive me. I should not be here yoking you with terrors." His fingers curled around the tip of Ghidorah's horn.

"It is part of the reason I had to come to you," she pressed closer against his side. "I had to know. You know of my campaign in Essos, of how I came to the Dothraki and my child, my war against the Masters. But I know not of your struggles at the Wall. My dreams showed me glimpses of what lurk beyond but these Others..."

"They are slavers as well. But they do not release their thralls even in death. No, the dead are their slaves. Their wights. Their foot soldiers that they mock us with. They have our own dead attack us. Death is no escape to the Others. Each slain is more for their army of undead."

_I offered water to one of the slaves dying on the Walk of Punishment, do you know what he said to me? 'Let me die'._

_There are no Masters in the grave, Your Grace._

Her conversation with Missandei so long ago in Astapor rose unbidden in her mind. Now it seemed even death would not save someone from enslavement, from a Master violating them.

Daenerys scowled. Aloud she spoke, "I have had much practice in killing Masters. If they are clad in frost or not, hide behind walls of stone or walls of ice, it doesn't matter. I will kill them all the same."

Aemon was about to respond with Ghidorah's right most head swiveled away to snarl at a too curious onlooker in the next building and making some of the wandering crowd scream. Almost instantly the Braavosi guard started yelling at some of them and Daenerys helped steady Aemon as Ghidorah turned around, one wing dropping over them as he hissed threateningly with the barbs on his tails flexing.

"...Perhaps we should speak inside," Daenerys said reluctantly as the guards shooed several people away. One was still arguing loudly with the person peering out the window in the other building.

Aemon wheezed wetly, "Yes. I wish I could converse more but my body is old and failing me. But you have my greatest gratitude, wondrous Ghidorah, for allowing me to witness you."

Ghidorah snorted but through their link Daenerys could feel his pleasure at Aemon's awe of him.

Daenerys insisted on taking Aemon to the lodgings given to her, the envoy building in far better shape than the damp one he had been in. Despite his protests she also insisted on giving him the largest bed, tucking the thick furs around him as he sat up with a hoard of pillows at his back. She could tell from his breathing and the way his hands were trembling, along with the almost blue tint to his skin, that Quaithe's words were true. Aemon was ill, ill and old and dying, and though she did indeed treasure meeting him she despaired at being alone again so soon.

Or perhaps not so alone, as Ghidorah had one large eye peering through the thick window to watch over them as he settled outside the building. Outside the crowd had moved with his own movements but nothing had yet broken out.

"I wish my body did not fail me so," Aemon said, body shaking. The veins underneath the thin skin of his hands were thick and protruding.

She offered him a delicate kerchief of silk from the bedside table and he coughed into it, the motion so intense he nearly slumped over despite her steadying. She tried not to despair at strength of his hacking and how his limbs trembled with exhaustion when he was done. The chill had sunken deep into his lungs.

"We are all human," Aemon rasped, sightless eyes roving over nothing as she smoothed the blankets around him. "We all have mistakes, regrets, consequences that we must live with for the rest of our days. They are wounds on the soul; some heal, leaving naught but a scar but others remain large and weeping until we die. Others still fester and rot us from the inside out. It seems now my body is catching up to my regrets."

"I know my own share of regrets," Daenerys said quietly. The images of Eroeh and Irri rose in her mind, along with the memory of her own belly heavy with child. When she had failed to protect those who trusted her, who needed her most and she failed them.

"Summerhall was another, of our family," Aemon said. "Trying to being dragons back to the world, to bring them back to us. Instead all we got was fire and blood, befitting our namesake."

"That was how my child came to me," Daenerys explained. "Upon that pyre, after the dregs of my life in the Great Grass Sea came to an end. After the deaths of my husband and my son."

"Yes. Through suffering sometimes we can find peace or a beginning- it can teach us the true cost. But for others it's just pain. Such as my brother, and nephew during that day at Summerhall. The dreams consumed him, visions of dragons and a burning red star. That was were we failed, great grand niece of mine, and I hope you can forgive me. None looked for a girl, everyone thought the prince who was promised was a boy. Rhaegar shared my belief, that the smoke was from the flames which consumed Summerhall and the salt was from the tears. Then his own son Aegon was conceived and a comet was seen above King's Landing and he believe his child was the one. But the language fooled us, dragons change from male to female as easily as flame and the translation fooled us for years. The red witch is wrong, Stannis is not one who is promised. Nay, he may have dragon's blood from my niece, Egg's little girl, but even when I tried to deceive myself that sword had not heat, was just light, an illusion. They are wrong and how many are burning for it."

Daenerys struggled to follow Aemon's words, the man almost rambling.

"Prophecies are not what they seem," Daenerys said slowly. "When I ate the stallions heart in Vaes Dothrak they declared the son in womb the Stallion who mounts the world but he was killed inside me. You should not bind yourself to the words which can be as twisted as any serpent."

She ignored the whispered memories of Ishabi pointing out she indeed had a child. If anything that simply proved more of the convoluted nature of prophecies. Even Quaithe had warned her, despite the woman delivering one of her own. Counseling Daenerys to think upon those words that needed to be said but not bind herself to them. The maegi was indeed a capricious ally.

His hands searched until she grabbed them, Aemon folding her own slight ones between his as he spoke, "Forgive me, brave niece, for being so blind in all manner of the word. I should have known. I should have tried to find you."

"It was not your fault. Prophecies are like wind, so difficult to hear and even harder to see."

"The Gods were cruel, so cruel, when they tested me true," Aemon's face creased in old pain, his breath short huffs, "When they saw fit to test my vows. When the ravens came from the South, to tell me of the destruction of our House. What could I do? What could I do when I learned of the death of our family? Even the murders of the children, the little children. When I was old and blind and frail and could do nothing."

Swallowing thickly, Daenerys tightened her fingers around Aemon's own.

"And now they play one last cruel jape upon me," Aemon continued. "You need to be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I've lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying. I'm dying and you'll be alone yet again." Tears ran down his face, seeping into the deep cracks of his wrinkles. "And I'm here with you at my deathbed and I'm afraid still. Even after meeting you, meeting you both, I still fear the dark. It's always so dark for me, for years, but I cannot help but think as to what is beyond. Will I see Egg again? Will I find Dareon whole and happy, hear my sisters singing to their children? Who can speak it true, the horselords and their shadowlands? Or the seven hells and heavens? Or will I return to the veil of sorrow? I am full of regret, not for meeting you or your dragon, never, but for being so old I cannot help you and you have to listen to a fearful old man."

"You have already helped me enough," Daenerys hastened to assure him. "I cannot speak for what is beyond this life but I have seen enough I truly doubt there is nothing. But if there is then I will gladly spend my moments by your side. I may not be able to soothe your fears but I will stay with you within them."

"Then perhaps I will not be so fearful when the Stranger does indeed come, knowing my dear niece and her dragon will fight for us."

Daenerys swallowed, Aemon's conviction of her warming her stomach, before she squeezed his hand and asked, "But before then, uncle Aemon, tell me of your life as I told you of mine."

And Aemon did.

* * *

Though Daenerys was loathe to do so, she answered the Sealord's summon the following morn. She had slept on fur covers next to Aemon when the old man finally succumbed to sleep after detailing his experiences to her; of how he and Aegon used to pretend their eggs were hatching, Egg's egg being white with green swirls while Aemon's own being the same purple as his own eyes had been. Both lost to Summerhall as many others. His brothers Daeron, Aerion and sisters Rhae and Daella. Losing them one by one, one through Targaryen madness and other the pox, Aemon becoming a maester and choosing the Wall. He told her of Ser Duncan the Tall, who reminded her of Ser Barristan, and of Rhaegar, her brother, who Aemon had communicated with in secret via raven. Until Aemon had fallen asleep in the middle of telling her about how he used a far-eye to studying the stars at the Wall before his eyes were lost. When he remained asleep the whole night and the following morn she reluctantly left his side to bathe, redress and go outside to answer the Sealord's request.

The domes and pillars of the Sealord's palace was located at the eastern end of the Purple Harbour, north of the Moon Pool and the Iron Bank, with Daenerys asking Camern, who had seemed to appear out of thin air when she exited her lodgings, if there would be any place large enough for Ghidorah to land. The envoy simply told her that the Sealord had come to her and his barge was moored just at the harbour across. It seems the Sealord was quite curious and eager to speak to Daenerys even if she knew a large part of it was the golden dragon, now fully rested from his long flight after a decent rest, who now crawled along the wharf beside her until she reached the barge as the surrounding crowd still assembled.

Ferrego Antaryon, the Sealord of Braavos, was awaiting her on top of the lavish barge. He was leaning heavily on a cane carved from a dark polished wood and his breathing was shallow and short but his eyes were sharp as Daenerys approached. To his side was another man, who Daenerys was quite certain was the First Sword of Braavos and as such the Sealord's constant personal guard.

"Thank you for your hospitality, noble Sealord," Daenerys greeted him politely when she drew close. "Braavos has been an accommodating city and I am greatly appreciative of your hospitality."

"I deemed it prudent to try and avoid any more...excitement following your arrival," Antaryon said, his voice level and calm despite his bowed frame. "Your beast has caused many to wonder if war is on the horizon."

"Ghidorah is no pet," Daenerys said. "He will not harm any here as long as I am unharmed."

"Of course not," the Sealord agreed with her easily. "We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and her dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons and the bond between those of Old Valyria and their scaly cohorts has always been a mystery to others. It took the Doom to slay the dragonlords of Valyria and took the Dance to slay the dragons of the Targaryens. They can only find equal against one another or in a cataclysm which killed an entire civilization. However from what my envoy has told me, you are not here to look west."

"As I told the noble envoy, I am here to comfort my ailing family member in his last days."

The Sealord beckoned her to follow, settling down on the plush chairs set upon the deck of the barge with the First Sword standing slightly behind him to his left. It was an oddly open environment but as Daenerys sat in the chair opposite she realized the combination of the sound of the sea, the bustling wharf, the guards and Ghidorah's presence- and he had his mid most head resting on the barge itself, neck extended across the bridge -meant there was a level of privacy she could appreciate in such an open area. She had always loved the sea and the smell of salt in the brisk wind.

"I was told of Maester Aemon by his steward," Antaryon said, settling back in his seat with a sigh and looking quite relaxed. "They are traveling to Old Town, to train that Night's Watch member as his replacement. We have no quarrel with the Night's Watch either, so we need not interfere with this ones quest. He will be permitted to leave and the Maester had long given up his blood rights once taking the oaths of the Wall I am told."

"Yes. He and I have no interest currently in the Iron Throne. I will stay by his side until he passes and I would be grateful if Braavos continued to offer me succor until his final sleep comes. I offered to pay for my lodgings-"

"The Sealords of Braavos have had dealings with the Targaryens in the past, Lady Daenerys," Antaryon interrupted her though not unkindly. "Some were cordial, others more volatile. And we have heard many, many tales of your crusade to the south against the Masters, Daenerys Stormborn, Breaker of Chains."

Her lips thinned in a terse line, "I understand what it means to be a slave, when I was sold as a child bride to the Dothraki. I do not want any other to suffer such a fate, not while I can stop it."

"And Braavos endorses such a campaign, silver queen. Our most notable and recent was with Pentos and in their suing for peace they agreed to our demands to terminate slavery within their walls and to withdraw from the slave trade. We do not tolerate such things and if any of those you freed wish to travel to Braavos they will be welcome here. There is always coin to be found and ships needing workers. They will not go without."

"Thank you for your generous offer, noble Sealord. When I return to Meereen I will let my subjects know of your offer and any who would seek refuge underneath the Titan may do so."

Antaryon watched her closely for a moment before he admitted, "I had sought to meet you, much out of curiosity for the remaining Targaryen and your wondrous dragon," the Sealord's gaze darted to Ghidorah's golden bulk lounging next to the barge before he continued, "For the Sealord's menagerie is well known across the sea, none have ever had a dragon. Of course, after the Doom they have been tamed only by the Targaryens and none other."

"I have heard tales of sea serpents, perhaps one would be more to Braavos' taste."

The Sealord laughed at her jape, even if his Sword didn't twitch. She didn't miss how his hands were shaking when he took a quick swallow of the goblet of wine to his side, much like Aemon's own would tremble. The sign of a bone deep illness. She pushed it from her thoughts, her attention returning back to the Sealord as he spoke, "Indeed. We have many stories of such creatures, including leviathans and krakens. Perhaps one day they can join my menagerie but until then I must long from afar. But meeting you is closer than those other tales, even if the stories surrounding you make it difficult to work which is myth or truth."

"The Masters enjoy spinning many a wild tale about me," Daenerys said. She had not been oblivious to the many vicious rumours they spread about her. The oddest one she found was the rumour she bathed in the blood of maidens to keep herself young. She did not know what age the Masters thought her as as she was barely a young woman as is.

"Indeed they do yet you shall strip them bare soon enough I feel. On that regard I have an offer. The Lannisters would brag of paying their debts but it seems the children are far more blind than their father, for all his arrogance the old lion was not foolish even with him dying upon the privy with a crossbolt to the heart. Already the queen mother Cersei Lannister has angered the Iron Bank which those of sound mind know better. The Iron Bank has closed their treasury to Westeros and are demanding all loans repaid. Westerosi may be warriors, but we Braavosi are traders and we understand the importance of coin. The Iron Bank especially, and they have already offered to give you substantial loans if you chose to visit the Bank and request such a thing. They will offer monetary aid gladly if you should seek it."

Daenerys was quite caught off guard by the abrupt offer from the Sealord, along with the revelation another of the Usurper's dogs was dead.

The Iron Bank would have its due, was the saying.

That he was being so blunt surprised her. Despite her assurances she had not arrived in Braavos to attack Westeros she was unsure if the Sealord even believed her. If the late Tywin Lannister's daughter was refusing to repay her loans then the Iron Bank would be willing to bankroll Daenerys' own campaign. It was something she had been taught as a child in Pentos, to beware the Iron Bank and their debts. If the Iron Throne refused the Iron Bank then they would obviously be willing to lend a hand to anyone seeking to overthrow the betrayal.

After a long moment Daenerys replied carefully, "Thank you for such a generous offer, noble Sealord. I will keep it greatly in mind."

"Nay, thank you Lady Daenerys. Never did I think I would witness a dragon in my lifetime, much less one being bound to a Targaryen of integrity and so eager to spill the blood of the Masters. It gladdens me so, especially from the history of Old Valyria and the dragonlords of yore yet it seems Aegon the Conqueror's blood has won out. Keep your course as is and Braavos will continue to see you as a friend."

* * *

"I wish for you to have this."

Aemon's voice was barely a whisper, the chill in his lungs sapping whatever strength the old man had until he was now unable to even push himself upright when he awoke at noon. Daenerys had only left his side to see the privy, otherwise she was a constant presence next to his prone form and keeping a firm grasp of his hand between hers. Once her meeting with the Sealord was done, she had retreated back to her lodgings and helped feed Aemon with the food provided by the diligent Camern. Even the difference from the previous night it was startling almost how he had weakened so badly. She doubted he could even stand on his own anymore.

He had been telling her about the Night's Watch, recounting the numerous brothers in black and commanders who had vanished into their ranks to be lost when he'd abruptly stopped. Concerned, she'd leaned before and gently shook his hand when he spoke that strange sentence.

"Uncle, what-"

She fell silent as Aemon's blue tinted hands slid free of hers and started to tug at the intricate chain around his neck, the links glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window as he struggled to pull it over his head. She helped him, still confused as to his intention as she helped spool the maester chain onto his hands only to be surprised when he pushed it towards her.

"Please, take it," he wheezed, blind eyes staring vaguely in her direction.

"I cannot. Chains are only for a maester, it is a great shame for one to be forced to surrender them-"

" _Please._ They are all that remains. I have nothing else and my flesh is failing me. I cannot... I have no other possessions with me. Nothing else to give you. When I am fed to the flames of a pyre I will leave naught but ash. So. Please, take them. They are all I have and I want you to have them."

Daenerys was no maester but the desperate tone in Aemon's voice left her no grounds for refusal. After a moment of hesitation to gently pulled the long link of chain from his hands. Instead of draping them over her shoulders, like a maester would, she instead rose so she could settle the chain around her hips. She had to reposition her cloak and fumbled with the chains for several moments before the chain hung right, having to awkwardly knot the excess at her right hip. The links clinked against each other softly, adding to the gentle noise of the bells in her hair.

Aemon's distressed expression soothed over as he heard the noise, settling with her acceptance of his final possession. Daenerys would never be a maester but this was a gift she could keep.

"Something, something to remember," Aemon's gnarled fingers kneaded at the furs. "I had nothing when I went to the Wall and I then had only ghosts for company as the decades passed."

She sat back down, the chain clinking again. Aemon reached out, brushing a knuckle against the tangle at her hip with unnerving accuracy for a blind man.

"Each link for each subject mastered. I spent years at the Citadel, learning so much, surrounded by books and others hungry to learn. Knowledge is a weapon. You must arm yourself well before you ride forth to this war. The Iron Throne means nothing before the dead and the Others. Fire consumes, but cold preserves. When the Others get beyond the Wall- for they will, I do not know how or when but they will -everything will freeze beneath the cold until the Land of Always Winter will be all of Westeros."

"But who could know of them? I am on the other end of the world, and barely any know of Essosi mysteries," Daenerys said, gripping at the chain around her waist. It was warm against her skin.

"The same could be said for the Others. They can be killed, that I know. Fire, obsidian, dragonglass. They shatter like glass, like breaking diamonds to be nothing but ice left behind. My steward slew one, stabbed it in the throat with a dagger of dragonglass when he saved Gilly and her child. Your dragon, your three headed dragon, must be able to kill the Others the same. Yet the Others are unlike Men, they are beings of magic and mystery, when you face them you must be careful. You must watch and wait and learn. You and he will be the last dragon in the world and must bring the dawn. But I cannot tell you how. Oh brave niece of mine, such an unkind burden you must take."

"I am the blood of dragons, just as you," Daenerys said, grabbing Aemon's wrist. "I will not run and cower from these creatures, Masters of another name and they need to die just as they do. Fire and blood is our lot. I swear to you Aemon, I will not let humanity be forgotten. There is good in us, I know it. We can commit terrible things but we can commit glorious acts as just an opposite. I will join the fight for the living when the time comes, I will. And I will remember you, your words and your chain and let them guide me even if you cannot be with me when I face them."

Aemon struggled to keep his blind eyes open but before he fell back into slumber he managed to say, "That is all I can ask of you, my brave queen and gentle niece. Perhaps the Gods have finally offered me a final reprieve, to have you with me after so much sorrow in my life. You must be as fierce as a storm and unyielding as the mountains."

* * *

That was his last good day.

Aemon deteriorated severely with that, his breath raspy and wet with his skin growing clammy like the belly of a dead fish. His fingers would twitch and flex, eyes staring at nothing as he shivered beneath the furs. When he did speak his words were slurred and nonsensical even if Daenerys did her best to remember each and every word. He said the sphinx was the riddle, not the riddler, a candle which would not be lit and eggs which would not hatch, of flapping griffins and wyverns and the taste of strawberries and sweet plum wine, of a hen on the Wall and Egg with an egg, and how he remembered the ship freezing until it sounded as if coated in broken glass as they crossed the Narrow Sea. At one point he requested that Daenerys read to him, from a book penned by Septon Barth. It was a book Daenerys herself had tried to find to no avail but she would simply tell Aemon again of all she knew of Ghidorah and it seemed to soothe his ramblings as he fell back into a shallow rest.

Once he woke up weeping. "The dragon must have three heads," he insisted to her, his grip on her hand painful and jolting her awake. "but I am too old and frail to be one of them. You're alone and a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing."

He asked for his brother Egg regularly, mistaking Daenerys for Aegon and being confused as to why he couldn't see or why his body ached so. Daenerys felt her despair grow as Aemon's senses left him, especially when he addressed her as Rhae at one point and asked after her children. Through their link and Ghidorah's vigilance she could sense her child's confusion as to Aemon's collapsing state even if he did not leave his guard of her. She didn't know how to explain it to him and felt on the edge of tears as her last family member deteriorated before her.

Another part of her knew she was lingering too long in Braavos, for it had been three days now since she had arrived in the city. Meereen had been left undefended and she had to hope Grey Worm, Missandei and Barristan were vigilant in her absence. She wanted to go back to her people but she could not leave Aemon. Not as he suffered so. It was different than watching a man die from a sword or arrow. It was as if Aemon's mind was devouring itself and she barely slept after his sudden collapse in senses.

"Ghost..." the man moaned at one point in the night, as Daenerys struggled to rouse him from his delierium as his skin burned under her touch. "Oh Ghost. What did they do to you? Red, red on the snow..."

At one point the steward attempted to enter the house but Ghidorah chased him away. Daenerys couldn't even bring herself to care, despairing over Aemon and struggling to hold her grief in check. With Viserys died it was screaming and the reek of boiling flesh then silence. This slow, horrid dying was beyond her. 

Once, when Aemon was mumbling to himself with feverish sweat dotting his skin and hands clawing at the furs her gaze slid to one of the lush pillows upon the bed. She thought of how she smothered Drogo, pressed a pillow to his unseeing face and held it down until his breath left his body.

She did nothing, instead comforted Aemon as best she could in his dying moments.

Because that was what was happening. She could sense it and smell it but she had promised to be by his side until the end and she would stay. So she soothed his mumbling and wet his feverish brow with a damp cloth, dribbled water past his chapped lips. And when he mistook her for Targaryens long dead and even once for his mother Dyanna Dayne, she did not deny him. Instead gently stroking at the spotted taunt skin of his bald scalp like how a mother would soothe her babe. She settled on the bed next to him, her legs across his lap and murmuring stories to him and songs she could remember. Aemon hummed along sometimes but other times he talked of the stars he remembered or complained how it was so dark and clutched at her in fright.

Through it all she not once complained, even when she missed meals as the day became long and Ghidorah's concern grew. She would stay and remain vigil even if Aemon was now in a shallow doze.

Aemon suddenly lurching towards her made her twitch violently, hands gripping her shoulders and milky eyes boring into hers. She caught him without hesitation, her arms around his back as she steadied him as he wheezed, "There is ice and there is fire. Hate and love. Bitter and sweet, winter and summer. Evil and good. Death and life. Everywhere, opposites. Fire is love, fire is passion, ice is betrayal, ice is revenge. Fire and blood."

Then Aemon's entire body slumped, like a puppet with its strings cut. His head fell to the curve of her neck and shoulder, arms falling down to the fur blankets as she tightened her grip around him. 

Daenerys remained frozen, her arms wrapped around Aemon's body and she knew. She knew the moment he collapsed against her, in that boneless way. Only the dead fell that way. Ghidorah made a distressed rumble outside, the window groaning slightly as he nudged it with a snout as he felt the yawning despair fill his mother. Daenerys struggled to settle Aemon back on the blankets, his body dead weight as she laid him down. His sightless eyes were now lifeless as well, shiny like marbles in a market as his breath was still in his lungs. 

With shaking fingers Daenerys reached down and gently, so gently, slid Aemon's eyes shut before she pressed a kiss to the dead man's brow, his skin still warm against her lips.

 _Valar morghulis,_ Daenerys thought even as the tears began to slide down her cheeks.

* * *


End file.
